Chapter 6 - Retribution on the Polished Stone
Arthur did not hesitate for a single microsecond.
The moment the maid laid her hands on his mother, the billionaire's explosive protective instinct took total control.
He stepped between the cream armchair and the attacking servant with the lethal precision of a seasoned fighter.
His gray eyes burned with blinding, unadulterated fury.
As Clara pulled with all her weight on the leather bag, Arthur brought his right fist back and threw a single, crushing punch.
The strike landed squarely against the maid's shoulder and chest, carrying the full weight of a furious son's vengeance.
The impact cracked like a gunshot through the vaulted entrance hall.
Clara’s hands were instantly torn free from the leather handbag as the kinetic shockwave lifted her off her feet.
She let out a sharp gasp of shock and agony as her momentum was violently reversed.
Her body staggered backward across the marble floor, her black flats skidding helplessly across the polished surface.
She collided hard against the side of the heavy cushioned armchair, knocking the expensive furniture sideways.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor before Clara collapsed awkwardly across the cushioned seat.
Her neat dark bun unraveled, strands of black hair falling wildly across her pale, stunned face.
Arthur did not pursue her to strike again; his priority was absolute and unwavering.
He immediately planted his large, muscular frame squarely between the fallen maid and the armchair where his mother sat.
He shielded Evelyn entirely with his broad back, his tailored charcoal suit expanding with his heavy, enraged breaths.
His fists remained clenched at his sides, ready to tear apart anyone who dared make another move.
Evelyn slumped back into the chair, clutching the leather bag tightly against her beating heart, gasping for air.
Lucas leaped to his feet beside his father, his hazel eyes blazing as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the billionaire.
Arthur stared down at the groaning housemaid, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifying roar that shook the glass crystals above.
"GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF MY MOTHER!"
The words reverberated through the grand foyer, vibrating against the tall windows overlooking the Chicago skyline.
Never in the history of the household had Arthur lost control in such an explosive, terrifying display of power.
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Clara looked up from the armchair, clutching her bruised shoulder, her face a mask of stunned, venomous disbelief.
She realized the physical boundary had been drawn in blood and iron; there would be no more polite negotiations in this house.
