“Look at you. The great business shark of Wall Street… reduced to dead weight. I’m not wasting my best years wiping drool off your chin. Sign the power of attorney tomorrow, and I’ll be generous enough to put you in a ‘respectable’ care facility. A cheap one, of course. The money is mine now.”
A volcanic rage rose in Alexander’s chest
A volcanic rage rose in Alexander’s chest, but years of iron discipline kept him perfectly still. He clenched his jaw until it ached, forcing his gaze to remain empty, feigning mental collapse.
He needed to endure this.
He needed to see how deep the corruption went in the woman he shared his bed with.
At that moment, the door opened timidly.
It was Elena Morales, the young housekeeper. Her blue uniform was clean but worn. In her arms she carried Lucas, one of the twins, while holding the hand of Matthew, the other. The boys—children from Alexander’s first marriage—stared at the scene with frightened eyes.
“Sir… I’m sorry,” Elena whispered, lowering her head, trying to disappear. “I heard yelling. The boys were scared. They wanted to see their dad.”
Victoria spun around like a striking cobra.
“Who gave you permission to enter?” she snapped, hurling her glass against the wall where it shattered. “Get those brats out of my sight! They stink of poverty. I told you—I don’t want Alexander’s kids wandering into my bedroom.”
