Chapter 2 - The Bleeding Forehead And The Cold Family Smile
Warm blood trickled down the side of my face, stinging the cut above my eyebrow where the porcelain shards had struck.
Grant didn’t even flinch as he adjusted the cuffs of his immaculate Brioni shirt, his eyes devoid of any lingering affection.
Across the mahogany dining table, Eleanor Blackwood calmly picked up her crystal water goblet and took a slow, deliberate sip.
“A wife who forgets her position eventually requires physical correction,” Eleanor noted coldly, her voice devoid of any maternal warmth.
The other family members seated around the banquet table watched in silence, their expressions hardened into masks of absolute indifference.
They had witnessed this dynamic play out a hundred times before behind closed doors, treating abuse as a domestic standard.
I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand, smearing crimson across my skin while staring directly at my husband.
“You think a broken plate and a stolen transfer slip grant you absolute immunity,” I whispered, my voice shockingly steady.
Grant smiled, leaning back against his leather armchair with the smug arrogance of a man who owned half of Wall Street.
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“We own the banks, the courts, and the politicians, darling,” Grant replied, his tone dripping with patronizing condescension.
“You’re just a footnote in a dynasty that existed long before you were born.”
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