Chapter 3
The room grew completely silent as Silas stood up. The only sound was the crackle of the massive fireplace. Even Helen stopped handing out the presents, sensing the immediate shift in the atmosphere.
Silas loved an audience. He loved being the center of attention, and he loved nothing more than twisting the knife when he knew he had the upper hand. He took a slow, arrogant step forward, pointing a long, accusing finger directly at the shivering four-year-old girl standing by her father's side.
Josephine whimpered softly and immediately hid her face against Bennett’s leg, burying herself in the fabric of his trousers.
"You know that wooden horse you're holding?" Silas asked loudly, laughing mockingly and humiliatingly. The sneer on his fair, rosy face was completely unmasked. He looked directly at Bennett, practically daring him to respond. "We pulled it out of the trash. Literally. It was sitting on the curb down the street. We figured it was good enough for your kid."
A few stifled giggles erupted from the back of the room, followed by Robert’s deep, rumbling chuckle of approval.
"Silas, really," Helen offered a weak, entirely insincere reprimand, completely failing to hide the amusement in her own eyes. "That's a bit harsh for Christmas."
"It's the truth," Silas shrugged carelessly, tossing his own wrapped gift onto the sofa. "Bennett thinks he's so high and mighty now. Thinks he can just waltz back into this house and act like he owns the place. He needed a reminder of what we really think of him and his little accident."
The word "accident" hung in the air, a vile, unforgivable insult directed entirely at the innocent child trembling against Bennett’s leg.
Bennett didn't blink. The air around him seemed to freeze solid. The handsome, authoritative young man vanished in an instant, replaced entirely by a cold, calculating predator. He looked down at the battered wooden rocking horse still clutched in Josephine’s tiny hands.
"Give me the horse, Jo," Bennett whispered softly.
Josephine looked up at him, her eyes wide and fearful, but she immediately surrendered the broken toy into his waiting hands.
Bennett gripped the neck of the wooden horse tightly. He didn't look at Clara, who was watching with wide eyes. He didn't look at Robert or Helen. He locked his icy gaze entirely onto Silas.
"You pulled it out of the trash," Bennett repeated, his voice dangerously low, entirely devoid of any emotion.
"That's right," Silas sneered, stepping closer, utterly convinced of his own invincibility in his grandfather's house. "Trash for trash. You got a problem with that, Bennett?"
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Bennett didn't answer. He didn't telegraph his movement. He simply reacted with terrifying, explosive speed.
With a sudden, violent twist of his shoulders, Bennett threw the heavy wooden rocking horse straight through the air like a missile, aiming it directly at Silas’s face.
