Chapter 4 - The Decree of Ruin
Victoria let out another soft, melodic laugh, taking a leisurely step off the staircase and onto the main floor. The heels of her shoes clicked closer to Clara, stopping just outside the puddle. She looked at her son, her blue eyes filled with mock pity.
"Look at her, Julian," Victoria taunted, her voice purring with cold venom. "She’s a pathetic, sniveling little rodent. She can’t even carry a simple tray without ruining imported Italian stone. I gave her a home when her family went bankrupt, and this is the gratitude I receive. She belongs on her knees."
Julian didn't blink. The explosive rage that had filled his chest seconds ago suddenly evaporated, leaving behind a stillness so cold, so total, that even the ambient noise of the estate seemed to die away.
His dark eyes, once filled with heat, became flat, obsidian mirrors. He slowly let go of his leather travel bag. The heavy bag hit the marble floor with a dull, heavy thud that sounded like a coffin lid closing. Without a word, he reached into the breast pocket of his black trench coat with his gloved right hand.
He withdrew a sleek, matte-black encrypted satellite phone. His fingers moved across the glass screen with practiced, mechanical efficiency.
Victoria’s cruel smile flickered for a fraction of a second. A tiny seam of suspicion appeared between her manicured eyebrows as she watched him bring the phone to his ear.
"Julian?" she asked, her voice losing a fraction of its smooth confidence, though she tried to mask it with an arrogant tilt of her head. "Who are you calling? What ridiculous drama are you trying to construct now?"
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Julian stood erect beneath the blinding glare of the morning sun, his dark silhouette casting a long, ominous shadow across the white floor that completely enveloped both his mother and the kneeling girl.
"Liquidate her entire estate," Julian said into the phone. His voice was completely devoid of emotion—no anger, no volume, just a flat, terrifying absolute. "Leave her with nothing."
