Chapter 7
Richard did not take his eyes off the cowering couple as he dialed a number with his thumb, pressing the phone to his ear. The bright colors of the room—the red wine stain on the wall, the vibrant artwork, Claudia’s designer dress—felt like a grotesque, mocking contrast to the dark, brutal reality of the moment. Lily was still shivering against his chest, but her breathing had steadied. The snow in her hair had completely melted, leaving her fair, rosy cheeks damp and cold to the touch.
"Thomas," Richard spoke into the phone, addressing his driver who was waiting outside in the blizzard. "Call Dr. Evans immediately. Have him meet us at my penthouse. Then, get the security team up here. All of them."
Richard ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Mark took a hesitant step forward, his hands raised in a placating, desperate gesture. His rosy skin was pale, entirely drained of blood. "Dad, please. Let's just talk about this. You're angry, I understand. But you can't bring security into this. We're family."
"We were family," Richard corrected, his deep American accent slicing through Mark's pathetic pleas. "A father who allows his child to be tortured is no son of mine. You are nothing to me now, Mark. Nothing but a liability."
"You're going to steal my daughter?" Mark asked, attempting to muster a shred of outrage, though his cowardice rendered it entirely hollow. "You can't just walk out of here with her! That's kidnapping!"
"If you want to stop me," Richard said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal hum, "you are welcome to try."
Richard stood perfectly still, holding the petite, adorable child in one arm, leaving his right arm free. He offered his son an open invitation for physical combat. He exuded the air of a powerful, dangerous figure, a man who had fought his way to the top of the corporate and social ladders and wasn't afraid to use violence to protect what was his.
Mark looked at his father’s broad shoulders, the crisp dress shirt, and the cold, unyielding eyes. He looked at the heavy hand that had just sent his wife crashing to the floor. Mark swallowed hard, taking a deliberate step backward, surrendering completely. He was too weak to fight for his child.
"That's what I thought," Richard sneered, profound disappointment radiating from every syllable.
The heavy front doors of the estate burst open once more. Three large, imposing men in dark suits stepped into the bright, cinematic light of the foyer. They were Richard’s private security detail, white American professionals who moved with silent, synchronized precision.
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"Mr. Whitaker," the lead guard said, his eyes scanning the room, noting Claudia on the floor and the wine on the wall. "What are your orders?"
"Wrap them up," Richard commanded, adjusting his cashmere scarf around Lily to ensure she was completely covered from the cold. "It's time for my son and his wife to experience a mild punishment."
