Chapter 4

Charlene folded the piece of paper and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. She unlocked the master bedroom door and stepped out into the wide, carpeted hallway.

Seven-year-old Silas stood dead center in the corridor, blocking her path. He was clutching a Nintendo Switch in both hands.

His face was twisted into an arrogant scowl that perfectly mirrored his father's.

"Why were you screaming in there?" Silas demanded. "You made Dad mad again."

Before Charlene could respond, Silas pointed a finger toward the stairs. "Go to the kitchen and make me mac and cheese. Now. I'm hungry."

In his mind, this was how it worked. He gave an order, and his weak, eager-to-please mother rushed to fulfill it, no matter the hour.

But Charlene didn't flinch. She didn't offer her usual soft, apologetic smile.

She crossed her arms over her chest. She looked down at the boy who had been completely poisoned by Dawson's entitlement.

"Am I your personal maid?" Charlene asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of any maternal warmth.

Silas blinked. He stared at her, confused by the lack of compliance. Then, his face turned red, and he resorted to his usual tactic.

He raised his arms and hurled the expensive Nintendo Switch onto the floor. It bounced against the thick carpet.

"You're useless!" Silas screamed, his voice echoing shrilly off the walls. "You're a bad mom! Aunt Angelita is better! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living here!"

The air in the hallway instantly froze.

At the sound of Angelita's name, Charlene's eyes turned to shards of ice. Her breathing slowed.

She didn't drop to her knees to comfort him. She didn't beg him to stop crying. She completely ignored his tantrum.

Charlene lifted her foot. The sharp heel of her stiletto stepped right over the discarded gaming console.

She walked to the top of the grand staircase and looked down into the foyer.

"Butler!" she shouted. Her voice cracked like a whip through the silent house.

The head butler scurried out from the dining room, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Charlene pointed a finger back at Silas, who was still screaming in the hallway.

"Cut off all of his allowance immediately," Charlene ordered coldly. "And go into his room and confiscate every single electronic device he owns. Now."

The butler froze. The color drained from his face as he wrung his hands together, sweating visibly. He struggled for a moment, torn between the absolute authority Dawson held over the household and the immediate, terrifying threat standing right in front of him. "M-Madam... those privileges were granted by Mr. Conner. I cannot override his orders without his permission."

Charlene snapped her head toward the butler. The sheer force of her glare pinned the man to the floor.

"Dawson is too busy to care about these trivial matters right now, but you will have to face my wrath immediately. Make your choice. Does my voice mean absolutely nothing in this house?" she demanded, her tone lethal. "Do I need to fire you tomorrow morning?"

The butler swallowed hard. The oppressive weight of her authority, coupled with the real fear of losing his lucrative position, crushed his hesitation. He bowed deeply. "Right away, Madam."

Seeing the butler turn toward his room, Silas lost his mind. He charged at Charlene like a wild animal, swinging his small fists, aiming for her legs.

Charlene's reflexes were fast. Her hand shot out and clamped down hard around his wrist.

She squeezed. Hard.

Silas gasped, his eyes widening in shock as a sharp pain shot up his arm. He tried to yank his hand back, but her grip was like iron.

Charlene leaned down. She brought her face level with his, her eyes burning with a terrifying intensity.

"If you ever raise a hand to me again," she enunciated every word clearly, "I will throw you out the front door, and you can go live on the streets and look for your Aunt Angelita yourself."

Silas stopped breathing. He stared into his mother's eyes and saw nothing but absolute, freezing indifference. He had never seen this monster before.

Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks. He wrenched his wrist free, turned around, and sprinted back to his bedroom, sobbing uncontrollably.

His door slammed shut. The hallway fell into a deathly silence. The maids hiding in the shadows held their breath.

Charlene stood up straight. She brushed her hands together, as if dusting off dirt.

She walked gracefully down the stairs. "Tell the chef I want a filet mignon. Medium. "