Chapter 3

The heavy oak doors of the study slammed shut behind them, sealing them inside. The room smelled of aged leather, expensive cigars, and suffocating authority.

Theodore Morse stood behind his massive mahogany desk. His face was purple with rage. He picked up a crumpled tabloid newspaper and hurled it across the room. It hit the edge of the desk and scattered onto the Persian rug.

The front page featured a grainy photo of Andrea looking disheveled outside the police station after the robbery, the headline screaming in bold black ink: MORSE HEIR'S WIFE IN MIDNIGHT SCANDAL.

"You are a reckless, squandering fool!" Theodore barked, slamming his fist onto the desk. The crystal whiskey decanter rattled. "You are dragging the Morse name through the mud by keeping this... this street rat around!"

Gregory didn't flinch. He walked over to a leather wingback chair and sat down. He crossed his legs, resting his elbows on the armrests, looking entirely bored. He looked like a man waiting for a delayed flight, not a son facing his father's wrath.

Andrea stood near the door, keeping her distance. She blended into the shadows, a silent observer. Her eyes tracked the micro-expressions on Theodore's face. She knew the power dynamics in this room were lethal.

"This little incident caused a two percent dip in the stock," Gregory said, his voice a low, lethal whisper. "But she serves her purpose. She keeps the board from questioning my stability after Genevra's passing."

"Reputation is the foundation of this family!" Theodore yelled. "She looks nothing like Genevra anymore!"

Gregory stared at him for a long moment. Then, he slowly turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto Andrea standing in the corner.

A cold shiver violently ripped down Andrea's spine. She recognized that look. It was the look of a curator inspecting a flawed piece of art. Her breath hitched. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating her lungs as his gaze dragged over her features, dissecting her worth.

"She will learn to dress better," Gregory announced to his father. "Or I will replace her."

Andrea's heart stopped. The air vanished from her lungs. Her pupils dilated in pure shock as she stared at the side of Gregory's face. Replace her? A wave of nausea hit her so hard she almost stumbled. He spoke of her like a broken piece of furniture.

Theodore's eyes darted to Andrea's pale face. The rage in his face melted away, replaced by a calculating, greedy hunger. He looked at her not as a human being, but as a defective tool.

"See that you do," Theodore demanded.

"We are working on it," Gregory lied effortlessly, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair.

Theodore let out a heavy breath. He sat down heavily in his leather chair. "If she can't maintain the image... the restrictions on your board voting rights will be permanently reinstated."

"Then I suggest you show some good faith, Father," Gregory said, a victorious smirk playing on his lips.

Theodore waved his hand dismissively. "Get out. Both of you."

Gregory turned and dragged Andrea out of the study. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them in the empty hallway, Andrea violently shoved Gregory away.

She backed up against the wall, her chest heaving. "Are you insane?" she hissed, her voice shaking with suppressed fury. "How dare you make that decision for me?"

Gregory adjusted his cuffs, completely unfazed. "You think you have a choice? This is your only value in this family."

"It wasn't in the contract!" Andrea spat, her nails digging into her own palms so hard the skin almost broke.

Gregory took a step toward her, trapping her against the wall. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "I wrote the contract, Andrea. I can rewrite it whenever I want."

He reached up, his knuckles slowly, deliberately tracing the line of her neck. The touch sent a violent shudder of revulsion and fear through her body.

"Or," Gregory whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "do you want me to throw you out right now? Let the media tear you apart? Let you lose everything you've built?"

A freezing cold washed over Andrea's internal organs. She stared into his dark, empty eyes and realized just how dangerous the man she married truly was. He wasn't just a playboy; he was a monster in a custom suit.

Gregory dropped his hand and turned toward the grand staircase. "Prepare yourself to be a better shadow, Mrs. Morse," he threw over his shoulder.

Andrea stood alone in the cold hallway. Her hands were curled into tight fists, her body trembling with a rage so deep it physically hurt.

She looked back at the closed doors of the study. Theodore's concession was temporary. Gregory's control was suffocating. If she didn't act, she would be swallowed whole by these monsters.

She reached into her pocket with shaking fingers and pulled out her phone. She opened a secure, encrypted messaging app and typed rapidly.

Accelerate the timeline. I need the new Dreamscape Atelier collection ready for launch by next week. Whatever the cost.

She hit send. She wasn't a canary in a gilded cage. She was the poison they had willingly swallowed.