Chapter 3 - The Blind Strike
The heavy wooden doors at the end of the corridor burst open with a sharp, echoing crack. Lucas bounded into the hallway, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with sleep and sudden, violent adrenaline. Shirtless, his muscular torso gleaming under the chandelier light, he wore only a pair of black sweatpants with white stripes down the sides. His eyes swept the corridor, locking instantly onto Sophia, who was cowering against the marble wall, clutching her golden robe as if trying to shield herself from an assault.
"Dad! What is going on?" Lucas roared, his voice thick with raw rage. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't look at the space between Marcus and Sophia, nor did he notice that Marcus was standing nearly six feet away with his hands raised in complete surrender. The primal instinct to protect overtook every rational faculty in his brain.
"Lucas, wait! Listen to me—" Marcus began, his voice calm but urgent.
Before Marcus could finish his sentence, Lucas covered the distance between them in two explosive strides. Driven by months of suppressed resentment and the immediate, visceral sight of Sophia in tears, Lucas swung his right fist with full, unbridled momentum. The blow was fast, chaotic, and born of pure fury.
The fist struck Marcus cleanly across the left side of his jaw. The impact echoed through the hall like the snap of a dry branch. The force of the strike spun Marcus's head sharply to the side, his legs buckling beneath him as he stumbled backward against the marble wall. The skin near the corner of his lip split slightly under the pressure, a deep red bruise blooming instantly beneath the skin, though no blood pooled onto his dark blue robe.
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Sophia shrank back against the wall, covering her mouth with her hands, letting out a soft, theatrical gasp that masked the cold, triumphant smile forming beneath her fingers. It was working. The wedge was driven. The son had struck the father; the line had been crossed, legal and emotional boundaries shattered in a single second of manipulated rage.
Lucas stood over his father, his chest rising and falling heavily, his fists clenched tight at his sides, his breath coming in hot, ragged gasps. "How dare you touch her!" he spat, his knuckles white, his posture rigid with righteous indignation.
