Chapter 7 - The Silence of the Lambs and Wolves
Thatcher staggered backward, his face drained of all color. He fell to his knees, cradling his mangled, rapidly swelling hand against his chest, tears of shock and agony streaming down his handsome face. He whimpered, rocking back and forth on the marble.
A few feet away, Sterling remained frozen on the floor. The patriarch, the tyrant who had ruled his family through fear for decades, stared at Kalista with genuine, unadulterated shock. His jaw was swelling badly from where she had kicked him, and for the first time in his miserable life, he had absolutely nothing to say.
The guests—the wealthy, the powerful, the elite of their social circle—recoiled in horror. Aunt Coraline backed away so fast she nearly tripped over a potted fern, pressing herself against the gilded wallpaper as if trying to melt into the architecture. They were wolves in boardrooms, but here, faced with raw, untamed consequence, they were nothing but terrified sheep.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Kalista didn't spare a second glance for the men groveling on the floor. She turned her back on her husband and her father-in-law, crouching back down beside Lenora.
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Moving with practiced care, Kalista slid her arms under the older woman, lifting Lenora gently into a seated position against her own body, acting as a physical shield between the bleeding mother and the two monsters on the floor. Kalista’s white dress was now thoroughly ruined, streaked with dirt and blood, but she wore it like the armor of a conquering queen.
Lenora clung to Kalista’s arm, sobbing quietly into the silk fabric, terrified but finally, for the first time in her life, protected.
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