Katherine violently shoved five-year-old Clara out of her chair, sending the toddler crashing to the floor as water spilled everywhere, viciously shrieking that the "filthy parasite" was dirtying her seat.

The dining room of the Keller estate gleamed under the merciless glare of the crystal chandelier. Sunlight spilled through the arched bay windows, illuminating the freshly polished mahogany table, the sterling silverware, and the vibrant floral arrangements.

Without warning, Katherine’s hand shot across the table. Her manicured nails dug into Clara’s shoulder, shoving the five-year-old violently backward. Clara’s chair tipped with a screech. The crystal water glass beside her plate overturned, drenching the linen in a cold wave before Clara hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud.

“You filthy parasite—you’re dirtying my chair!” Katherine exploded, her face twisted in vicious contempt.

Clara burst into frantic sobs, her small hands clutching her scraped knee. The hem of her pastel Easter dress was soaked, and a faint red welt bloomed across her fair, rosy cheek where her face had grazed the carved wooden rung.

Jocelyn was on her feet before the glass stopped rolling. Her flat shoes gave her instant traction as she dropped to her knees, sweeping Clara into her arms.

“Shh, baby, look at me. Look at Mommy,” Jocelyn whispered, her hands checking Clara’s skull, her fingers trembling against the little girl’s ribs.

Eleanor didn’t flinch. She delicately lifted her wineglass away from the widening puddle of water, her diamond rings clinking against the crystal. “Honestly, Jocelyn, control your child. That runner is imported Belgian lace. You’ve ruined the entire centerpiece.”

Jocelyn rose to her feet, lifting Clara onto her hip. Her knuckles were white against her daughter’s back.

“You attacked a five-year-old over a chair,” Jocelyn said. Her voice was terrifyingly low, vibrating with a mother’s murderous rage.

Katherine scoffed, smoothing the silk of her designer dress. “She had butter on her fingers, Jocelyn! That upholstery is hand-woven Italian brocade! You let her crawl all over furniture she has no right touching!”

“She’s five, Katherine! She reached for a roll!”

At the head of the table, Richard didn't even lift his eyes from his plate. He sliced through his medium-rare steak with rhythmic, mechanical precision, his dinner fork scraping loudly against the porcelain.

“Take her somewhere else,” Richard said, his tone stripped of every trace of compassion as he waved his fork toward the foyer. “She’s ruining dinner.”

“Did you not see your daughter shove your granddaughter onto the floor?” Jocelyn asked, her breath catching in pure disbelief.

“I saw an undisciplined child cause a disturbance at my table,” Richard replied coldly. “I will not have tears during our anniversary meal. Take her to the kitchen or take her home. Just get her out of my sight.”

Clara buried her wet face into Jocelyn’s neck, her small chest heaving with muffled hiccups. “Mommy, I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Mommy...”

“You did nothing wrong, Clara,” Jocelyn whispered into her hair. “Not a single thing.”

Jocelyn set Clara down for a fraction of a second, reached into her leather handbag, and pulled out a thick blue folder. She opened it, her eyes scanning the prominent embossed letterhead: Apex Global Acquisitions: Lumina Tech buyout confirmation.

Katherine’s smirk wavered as she saw the official seal. “What is that garbage?”

Jocelyn didn't answer. She slipped the folder under her arm, scooped Clara back up, and turned toward the arched doorway.

“Hey! Don’t you dare turn your back on me when I’m talking to you!” Katherine snapped, her stiletto heels clicking sharply across the parquet floor as she chased Jocelyn into the foyer.

Katherine lunged, her fingers clamping tightly onto Jocelyn’s forearm, digging into the cotton blouse.

Jocelyn twisted her arm with surgical violence, ripping Katherine’s grip away. She spun around, shifting Clara behind her, and pulled her smartphone from her pocket with her free hand.

Katherine laughed, an arrogant, high-pitched sound that vibrated with sudden panic. “What are you doing, calling your little public defender husband? You have no power over my company, Jocelyn! None! I built Lumina from the dirt!”

Jocelyn unlocked the screen and hit speed dial on speakerphone. The line rang once.

“Marcus,” Jocelyn said.

A crisp, professional baritone answered instantly. “Yes, Madame Chair. The final signatures cleared at noon. We hold ninety-two percent of voting shares.”