Chapter 2
The grand double doors of the estate were unlocked. Richard didn’t bother turning the handle; he kicked the heavy oak doors open with a thunderous crash that echoed through the entire house. He rushed through the open doorway, carrying the violently trembling three-year-old girl securely in his arms. The interior of the house was a stark contrast to the blizzard outside. It was bathed in bright, natural light from the massive skylights, showcasing an impeccably decorated, modern living space full of vivid, vibrant colors. The heating was turned up high, wrapping the room in luxurious, comfortable warmth.
Standing in the center of the grand foyer was Claudia Whitaker, Richard’s forty-one-year-old daughter-in-law. She possessed a fair, rosy complexion, completely unblemished and carefully maintained. She was dressed in an expensive, form-fitting designer dress, heavy diamond earrings sparkling in the crisp light, and high, polished heels. In her perfectly manicured hand, she casually held a half-full wineglass of expensive red wine, looking utterly unbothered.
A few feet away stood Mark Whitaker, Richard’s forty-four-year-old son. He was dressed warmly in a thick, cashmere sweater, tailored trousers, and expensive loafers. His fair skin matched his wife's, but his posture was hunched and nervous.
Richard’s handsome, aged face twisted into a mask of explosive, protective rage. The veins in his neck stood out against his crisp dress shirt as he held the freezing, snow-covered child against his chest.
"You left my granddaughter barefoot outside for nine hours?" Richard roared, his deep, booming American accent shaking the crystal chandelier hanging above them. The sheer volume and intensity of his voice carried the terrifying, unchecked fury of a powerful man pushed to the absolute brink.
Claudia didn’t even flinch. She took a slow, deliberate sip from her wineglass, her earrings catching the bright light. She looked at Richard, then down at the shivering, crying toddler wrapped in the oversized overcoat, her face radiating pure, unfiltered malice.
"Lower your voice, Richard," Claudia said, her crisp American accent dripping with condescension. "You are tracking snow all over my imported hardwood floors."
"She is three years old!" Richard bellowed, taking a heavy step forward, his polished dress shoes leaving wet, snowy footprints. "It is fourteen degrees outside! She is freezing to death, and you are standing here drinking wine?"
"She needed to learn a lesson," Claudia replied, waving her free hand dismissively. "She broke one of my favorite vases this morning. Children need boundaries, Richard. If you coddle them, they turn into entitled brats."
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"Where the hell is your medical kit?" Richard demanded, looking directly at his son. "Mark! Get me some warm blankets and draw a warm bath immediately! Move!"
Mark opened his mouth to speak, his rosy skin flushing with deep embarrassment, but he didn't take a single step. He glanced nervously at Claudia, completely paralyzed by his own cowardice.
