Chapter 1: The Twentieth Strike
Chapter 1: The Twentieth Strike
Eleven.
The cane struck across Clare's back, forcing the breath from her lungs.
Twelve.
She tasted blood where she had bitten through her lip.
Thirteen.
Matthew's face no longer resembled the man she had married. Every swing seemed less about anger and more about proving something—to himself, to Lauren, to the twisted pride that had consumed him.
Lauren stood silently near the entrance of the penthouse.
She hadn't expected this.
When Matthew had invited her upstairs, he had promised she would finally see "who was really in charge."
Instead, she watched a man unravel.
"Matthew..." Lauren whispered. "That's enough."
He ignored her.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
The antique cane cracked against Clare's shoulder again.
She refused to cry.
That infuriated him even more.
"You still think your father's name can save you?" he sneered.
Clare slowly lifted her head.
"No."
Her voice was weak but steady.
"I think the truth will."
Matthew laughed.
"What truth?"
"The truth that you built your empire on my work."
For the first time that night, uncertainty flickered across his face.
Only for a second.
Then he swung again.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
Eighteen.
The cane splintered near the handle.
Matthew stared at the damaged heirloom before throwing it across the room.
It crashed against the marble fireplace.
Nineteen.
This time, he kicked her instead.
She curled against the floor, protecting her ribs.
Then came the final blow.
Twenty.
Silence.
Matthew stood over her, chest heaving.
"If anyone asks," he said coldly, "you slipped down the stairs."
Lauren looked away.
Even she couldn't meet Clare's eyes anymore.
Matthew grabbed his jacket.
"Come on."
Lauren hesitated.
"Shouldn't we call a doctor?"
"She'll survive."
The apartment door slammed behind them.
The silence that followed was louder than every strike.
For nearly five minutes, Clare didn't move.
Then, with trembling fingers, she crawled across broken glass toward the side table where her phone had landed.
Its screen was cracked.
Somehow, it still worked.
She stared at one contact she had refused to call for seven years.
Dad.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Finally...
She pressed "Call."
The phone rang once.
"Dad speaking."
His voice hadn't changed.
Clare broke.
"Dad..."
There was a long silence.
Then she whispered the words she never imagined saying.
"I need you."
Without asking a single question, Charles Sterling answered quietly,
"Stay exactly where you are."
May you like
The line disconnected.
Five minutes later, the first domino fell.
