Chapter 7 - The Final Verdict
Dominic let go of the iron bars, stepping forward until his face was inches from the metal barrier.
“Grace,” he choked out, his voice cracking for the first time in his adult life. “Grace, please. We can talk about this. The hostess... it meant nothing. It was a mistake. I swear to God, it was nothing!”
Grace didn't flinch. She rested one hand gently over her baby bump, looking at him the way a scientist might look at a failed specimen under a microscope.
“You still don't get it, Dominic, do you?” she said, her voice carrying clearly over the sound of the rain.
“Get what?” he pleaded, desperation bleeding into every syllable. “I made mistakes! I was arrogant! But I love you! I built this empire for us!”
“You didn't build anything,” Grace said quietly. “My family handed you the keys to a kingdom and trusted you to govern it with honor. Instead, you took the wealth we provided, the security we maintained, and the loyalty we quietly enforced, and you turned it into a pedestal for your own ego.”
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing straight through him.
“You thought your power came from fear,” she continued. “You thought men respected you because you were a wolf. But you were only ever a dog on a very long, very strong leash held by my family. And the moment you bit the hand that fed you... we simply let go.”
Dominic stared at her, the terrible, crushing weight of reality finally settling onto his shoulders.
“The baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “My child...”
Grace’s expression hardened just a fraction. Her hand tightened protectively over her stomach.
“My child,” she corrected softly. “A Whitaker-Cross heir will be raised with honor, loyalty, and strength—qualities you abandoned long ago.”
She raised her hand and gave a single, subtle gesture to the driver in the front seat.
The window of the Lincoln Navigator rolled up smoothly, cutting off his view of her face. The SUV shifted into gear and turned around, disappearing back up the dark, tree-lined driveway toward the stone manor.
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“Grace! Wait! Grace!” Dominic screamed, pounding his fists against the iron gate until his knuckles bled, mixing his own blood with the rain.
The security guards didn't move. They simply watched him with cold, professional detachment as the man who thought he owned Chicago collapsed against the cold iron, completely and utterly defeated.
