Chapter 2 - The Sanctuary and the Storm
Inside the sprawling, sunlit kitchen of the mansion, Tyler stared wide-eyed at the marble countertops, the copper pots hanging above the island, and the sheer abundance of food Charles had hastily laid out.
To a boy who had survived on stale cafeteria bread and canned soup from neighborhood pantries, the spread looked like a royal feast. Yet, Tyler hesitated, his small hands gripping the edge of the chair.
“Go ahead, Tyler,” Julian encouraged, sliding a plate of warm pastries closer to his brother. “You can have as much as you want. Nobody’s going to take it away.”
Victoria stood by the window, watching the boys interact with a knot of pain tightening in her throat. Every laugh Tyler gave, every shy smile he flashed his brother, was a physical reminder of the stolen years. Nine years of Christmases spent with only one boy around the tree. Nine years of birthdays where she had quietly wept in the dark, wondering why God had taken her second son.
Her phone buzzed violently on the marble island.
Victoria walked over and glanced at the screen.
Arthur.
She stared at the caller ID as if it were a venomous snake coil ready to strike. She let it ring out to voicemail. Five seconds later, it buzzed again. Then a text message popped up on the screen:
We need to discuss the quarterly trust restructuring. I’m coming over.
Victoria’s breath hitched. She looked at Tyler, who had frozen mid-bite, sensing the sudden shift in the room's energy.
“Charles,” Victoria called out, her voice sharp.
“Yes, Madam?” the butler responded, hurrying into the kitchen.
“Lock all perimeter gates. Activate the privacy shields on the front entrance. If Mr. Sterling attempts to use his master key, disable the electronic deadbolt from the main terminal.”
Charles blinked in alarm. “Disable Mr. Sterling’s key? Madam, he is—symbolically and legally—still co-owner of this property trust.”
“Not anymore,” Victoria said, her eyes flashing with dangerous clarity. “Not after tonight. Do as I say, Charles.”
Before Charles could retreat to the security console, the heavy brass-inlaid front door echoed with three loud, authoritative thuds.
May you like
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Arthur Sterling had arrived.
