Chapter 2
Carmen did not flinch at her son’s fury. The society matriarch simply lifted her chin dismissively, taking a slow, arrogant sip of her champagne. Her sparkling blush-pink evening gown caught the blue-and-gold lights bleeding in from the living room, highlighting the absolute lack of remorse on her sharp features.
Before she could answer, heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed behind her. Anthony DeLuca stepped out of the shadows of the dining room archway. In his mid-sixties, the stern patriarch possessed silver hair, a deeply lined face, and a hard, intimidating stare that had broken countless corporate rivals. He wore a dark suit, a crisp white dress shirt, a burgundy tie, and polished shoes that clicked against the marble.
Anthony calmly stepped forward, his posture authoritative and emotionally cold. He looked his billionaire son straight in the eyes, completely unbothered by the terrifying rage radiating from Michael’s broad shoulders.
"She is not our blood, Michael," Anthony stated, his voice flat, emotionless, and heavily laced with a toxic obsession with family legacy. "She needs to know her place in this house."
Through the open archway, the cheerful squeals of Sophie and Emma provided a sickening, painful contrast to the cruel words. The twins continued holding their luxurious gifts near the towering Christmas tree, completely unaware of the devastating scene unfolding in the kitchen.
Michael’s face hardened into a mask of pure, absolute outrage. The luxury watch on his wrist gleamed as his hands curled into tight, shaking fists. He immediately bent down, his powerful frame shielding the fragile little girl. He lifted Renee effortlessly into his arms, pulling her away from the cold marble floor.
Renee’s little body shook violently as she buried her wet, tear-stained face into the fabric of his tailored gray vest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him fearfully. Michael held her protectively against his broad chest, his intense gaze never leaving his father’s hard, lined face.
"Her place is as my daughter," Michael growled, his voice vibrating with a lethal, protective promise. "And she will inherit everything I own, long after you are both in the ground."
Renee peeked over Michael’s broad shoulder, her big expressive eyes looking at the harsh faces of her grandparents before hiding against his neck again. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Daddy," Renee whispered, her small, trembling voice barely audible over the distant holiday music. "Was I bad? Grandma said I ruined the party."
The question shattered whatever restraint Michael had left. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her wavy light-brown hair, right beside her pale-blue ribbon.
"No, sweetheart," Michael replied, his deep voice turning incredibly soft, yet firm with emotional certainty. "Never. You are the best thing in my life."
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Michael turned his back on his parents, his polished dress shoes pivoting sharply toward the grand hallway. He was ready to walk out of the mansion and completely sever ties with the DeLuca patriarchs. But as he stepped out of the kitchen, his intense gaze caught something that made him freeze entirely.
Just a few feet away in the hallway, the heavy oak door to his private, locked study was standing slightly ajar.
