Chapter 7

Garrick froze. The name hit him like a bucket of ice water.

"Holloway?" Garrick's voice cracked, the rage replaced by panic. "What are you doing here? This is family business!"

Holloway didn't answer. He simply adjusted his grip on Garrick's wrist.

A sharp, wet crack echoed through the dressing room.

Garrick let out a high-pitched scream, dropping to his knees. His wrist hung at an unnatural angle, the joint visibly dislocated.

Lacey shrieked, scrambling backward, her burned arm cradled against her chest. She stared at Holloway in horror.

Ariel gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She knew Holloway was efficient, but this was brutal, instantaneous violence.

Holloway released Garrick, letting him collapse onto the floor, clutching his swollen wrist. Holloway didn't even glance at the whimpering man. He calmly straightened his cuffs, adjusting the white silk so it was perfectly aligned.

Then, he turned to Ariel.

He dipped his chin, his posture shifting from lethal soldier to respectful servant. It was a bow of absolute deference.

"Miss Melton," Holloway said, his voice smooth and respectful. "I apologize for the delay. Are you alright?"

Miss Melton. Not Mrs. Tillman. Not Garrick's wife.

Garrick, through gritted teeth and tears of pain, glared up at them. "Holloway! Are you insane? You break my arm, and then you bow to her? She's nothing! She's my discarded trash!"

Lacey chimed in, her voice shrill. "She's just a broke, useless ex-wife! You're going to lose your job over this!"

Holloway slowly turned his head to look at them. His eyes were flat, dead, and colder than the Arctic. It was a look that promised violence if they spoke another word.

Garrick and Lacey fell silent, the fear choking their words.

Holloway looked back at Ariel. "The car is waiting, Miss Melton. Mr. Tillman has asked me to bring you home."

Home. The word hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Garrick's face went pale. "Home? What home? She's homeless! She's a beggar!"

Lacey's mind raced, her eyes narrowing as she pieced together a twisted explanation. "Oh my god," she sneered, a cruel smile returning to her face. "Garrick, don't you see? She went straight to your uncle. She sold herself to him. That's why he's protecting her. She's his whore."

The idea made sense to Garrick. It was the only thing that made sense. Ariel, the desperate, infertile woman, had traded her body for a roof over her head.

Jealousy, pride, and disgust warred on Garrick's face. "You scheming bitch," he spat. "You seduced my uncle? You're disgusting!"

Holloway watched them for a moment, a flicker of something that might have been pity crossing his features before it was replaced by cold amusement.

He didn't argue. He didn't explain.

He just looked at them, enunciating each word with surgical precision, and dropped the bomb.