Chapter 2
The bright, natural sunlight seemed to mock the desperate struggle unfolding on the conservatory floor. Margaret positioned the inhaler, her hands trembling as she prepared to administer the lifesaving medicine.
"I said, enough of this," Tove hissed, her voice cutting through the bright, airy room like a serrated blade.
Without a shred of hesitation, Tove violently snatched the inhaler directly from Margaret’s aged hand. The sudden movement caused Margaret to lose her balance slightly.
"What are you doing?!" Margaret screamed, her voice cracking with pure horror. "Give that back to me right now! She cannot breathe!"
"She is faking it to ruin my afternoon," Tove replied, her American accent dripping with absolute disdain.
With a careless, aggressive flick of her wrist, Tove threw the plastic inhaler across the room. It skittered sharply across the polished tiles and vanished entirely beneath a heavy decorative stone table.
"No!" Margaret cried out. She immediately scrambled on her hands and knees, ignoring the sharp pain in her joints, desperate to retrieve the medication. "Mireya, hold on, sweetie!"
As Margaret reached out toward the shadow of the stone table, Tove stepped forward. With a forceful, malicious shove, Tove pushed the seventy-two-year-old woman backward. Margaret crashed hard into a wicker chair, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She slumped against the cushions, her fair face twisted in pain and disbelief.
"Stop encouraging her little performance," Tove laughed cruelly, her eyes devoid of any human empathy. She looked down at the gasping three-year-old with a smirk. "See? She's fine. Just looking for an audience."
"You are a monster!" Margaret gasped, clutching her ribs as she tried to pull herself back up. "If she dies, Cullen will kill you!"
"Cullen does whatever I tell him to do," Tove sneered, admiring her diamond engagement ring in the crisp daylight. "I am going to be his wife. He knows that an alliance with the Mercer family is worth far more than the tantrums of a spoiled little brat."
Chase chuckled from his spot near the citrus trees. "Exactly. The kid needs to learn her place in the new hierarchy. Tove is the lady of this house now."
Mireya dropped to her knees, her small hands clutching her throat. Her beautiful, rosy face was contorted in sheer panic as her lungs completely locked up. The sound of her desperate, wheezing gasps was the only noise in the bright, sunlit conservatory.
"Someone, please help her!" Margaret pleaded, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to stand. "Chase, get the inhaler! Please!"
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"I don't take orders from old women," Chase said coldly, crossing his arms over his expensive suit. "Let the kid figure it out. It builds character."
Tove smiled, walking back toward her padded bench. But as her heels clicked against the tile, the heavy mahogany doors leading from the adjoining council room slowly swung open, plunging the room into a sudden, terrifying silence.
