Chapter 5
The bright, cinematic daylight pouring through the grand windows seemed to freeze. The vivid colors of the luxurious foyer—the rich hardwood floors, the bright white walls, the sparkling crystal chandelier—provided a flawless, high-definition backdrop for the violent climax that was about to unfold.
Richard did not scream. He did not curse. The explosive, protective rage that had fueled his entrance shifted, coalescing into a terrifying, deadly calm. He gently shifted Lily in his arms, ensuring she was completely wrapped in the thick fabric of his overcoat and holding her securely against his left side. His right arm was now entirely free.
He slowly turned his head to look directly at Claudia.
Claudia stood there, her fair, rosy skin flushed with wine and victory. She genuinely believed she had won. She held her wineglass delicately, her diamond earrings catching the crisp light, an arrogant, mocking smile plastered across her beautiful face. She thought the powerful, seventy-two-year-old man was bound by the polite rules of high society. She was catastrophically mistaken.
"Your house?" Richard asked. His American accent was no longer a booming roar; it was an icy, lethal whisper that commanded absolute authority.
Before Claudia could even open her mouth to reply, Richard moved. Despite his handsome old age, he moved with the blinding, explosive speed and precision of a veteran who had built his empire with his bare hands.
Richard raised his right hand and delivered a thunderous, catastrophic slap directly across Claudia’s face.
The sound cracked through the grand foyer like a gunshot. The sheer, overwhelming masculine force behind the blow was devastating. Claudia’s eyes widened in sheer shock for a fraction of a second before the impact lifted her completely off her high heels.
The wineglass flew from her manicured hand, shattering violently against the pristine wall and splashing bright red wine across the white paint like a spray of blood. Claudia was sent spinning, crashing hard and violently to the hardwood floor. Her expensive dress tangled around her legs as she slid across the polished wood, coming to a halt in a crumpled, groaning heap at Mark's feet.
Lily buried her face into Richard’s chest, hiding her eyes, but she did not cry out. She clung to him tighter, feeling the absolute, immovable safety of her grandfather's embrace.
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Richard stood tall, his dress shirt unwrinkled, his silk tie perfectly in place. He looked down at the woman writhing on the floor, his face carved from stone. The bright, natural light illuminated his powerful stance.
"Your house?" Richard repeated, his voice radiating pure, icy authority. "Claudia, you have no idea whose house you are in."
