Chapter 3
The bright, neutral white balance of the daylight offered no shadows for Brielle to hide her guilt. Damon dropped the plastic bat beside the padded post, his polished leather shoes crunching softly on the grass. He stepped deliberately between his crying sons and his fiancée, his broad shoulders completely blocking Brielle’s view of the children.
"Daddy, please," Micah sobbed, straining against the broad fabric sash. "It hurts. She tied it too tight."
"Hold still, Micah. I've got you," Damon said softly. He reached around his six-year-old son, his large, powerful hands gripping the tight knot of the fabric sash. With a single, forceful tug, he pulled the loose bow open, unraveling the binding.
The moment the fabric fell away, Micah stepped free. The boy immediately threw his arms around Damon’s waist, burying his face into his father's tailored suit. Caleb, still weeping from the horrific realization of the game, rushed forward and grabbed Damon’s leg, clinging to his father for absolute safety.
"Take the boys," Damon commanded, his deep voice carrying a terrifyingly calm authority.
Two adult bodyguards, both white American men wearing impeccably professional suits, stepped into the pavilion. Their fair skin and sharp features remained totally impassive as they moved with trained military precision. They gently gathered Caleb and Micah, ushering the two frightened children safely beside the pavilion entrance, completely isolating them from the impending confrontation.
Brielle, realizing the catastrophic mistake she had made, immediately went on the defensive. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her diamond engagement ring catching the light as she lifted her chin in a pathetic display of arrogance.
"You are overreacting, Damon," Brielle stated, her American accent crisp and dismissive. "It was a harmless joke. I was standing right here. I wouldn't have actually let him hit his brother."
Damon slowly turned to fully face her. The sheer, overwhelming intimidation radiating from him was palpable. "You tied my son to a post like an animal, and you weaponized my other son against him."
"Oh, please," Brielle scoffed, rolling her eyes in a desperate attempt to maintain her superiority. She shifted her weight on her high heels, completely oblivious to the lethal danger she had just invited into her life. "They are boys. They need to toughen up. You coddle them entirely too much."
Damon took one slow, measured step toward her. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop.
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"You think this is a matter of discipline?" Damon asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
"I think you are making a massive scene over nothing," Brielle retorted, her rosy skin flushing darker with irritation. She uncrossed her arms and let out a short, mocking laugh. "No one’s dead yet, are they?"
