Chapter 3

The heavy footsteps stopped. A tall, imposing figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the living room.

Donte Gallagher.

He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and the lean, predatory grace of his movements. He was the undisputed head of the Gallagher empire.

His piercing, hawk-like gaze swept over the frozen room. The temperature in the space seemed to drop ten degrees.

Eleanor instantly dropped her furious posture. She pasted on a strained, overly polite smile and hurried forward.

"Donte," she greeted him, her voice tight with forced respect.

Blair shrank back against the sofa, trying to make herself as small as possible. The spoiled brat vanished, replaced by a terrified child.

Alvie straightened his spine the moment he saw his uncle. A flash of deep-seated fear, mixed with bitter jealousy, crossed his face.

Gene stood her ground. She didn't look away. Her eyes met Donte's across the room. His deep, fathomless gaze felt like it was stripping away her armor, seeing straight into the core of her anger.

Donte's eyes flicked over her sharp black suit. For a fraction of a second, a dark gleam of approval flashed in his eyes, so fast Gene thought she imagined it. His face remained an unreadable mask.

He walked slowly to the main armchair and sat down. He crossed his long legs, resting his large hands casually on his knee.

"What is all this screaming about?" Donte's voice was a low, resonant rumble that demanded absolute submission.

Eleanor immediately seized the opportunity. "It's Gene," she lied smoothly. "She has no respect for the rules of this house. She insulted Blair and then tried to physically attack her."

Alvie opened his mouth, wanting to defend Gene to prove his new devotion, but one cold glance from Donte made him snap his jaw shut. He swallowed hard and looked at the floor.

Donte ignored Eleanor completely. He shifted his gaze to Gene.

"Do you have anything to say?" he asked, his tone flat.

Gene held his stare. "Blair insulted me first. Then she tried to slap me. I was simply defending myself."

Blair, feeling emboldened by Donte's neutral tone, decided to play the victim.

"That's a lie!" Blair cried out. Just as a maid approached with a silver tray to refill Eleanor's cup, Blair reached out and snatched a freshly poured cup of scalding hot black tea right off the platter. "I was just trying to offer her some tea to calm her down!"

Blair took two steps toward Gene, holding the hot porcelain cup. As she got close, she deliberately twisted her ankle. She thrust the cup forward, aiming the boiling liquid directly at Gene's arm.

Gene's senses, heightened by the trauma of her past life, caught the malicious glint in Blair's eyes a second before she moved.

Gene didn't step back. She stepped in.

Her left hand shot out, her fingers wrapping like a vice around Blair's wrist. Using Blair's own forward momentum, Gene twisted her wrist and shoved it downward.

The scalding tea splashed violently out of the cup. It missed Gene entirely and soaked directly into the expensive silk of Blair's dress, right over her thigh.

Blair let out a blood-curdling shriek. She dropped the cup-it shattered on the floor-and collapsed onto the rug, clutching her red, burning leg. Tears streamed down her face.

Eleanor screamed and dropped to her knees beside her daughter. The maids rushed in with cold towels. The room erupted into chaos.

Alvie stared at Gene, his mouth slightly open. He was too shocked by her brutal efficiency to even move.

Gene released Blair's wrist, letting her arm drop. She looked down at the sobbing girl.

"Next time you try something," Gene whispered, loud enough only for Blair to hear, "it won't just be hot tea."

Gene turned around, fully expecting the wrath of the family patriarch to crash down on her.

But Donte wasn't angry. He was staring at her. His dark eyes were locked onto her face, and his Adam's apple bobbed once against his throat.

He stood up slowly. The sheer physical presence of the man made the air in the room feel heavy. He walked toward Gene, stopping only when he was inches away. She could smell the sharp, clean scent of cedarwood radiating from his skin.

He looked down at her.

"Good reflexes," Donte murmured. His voice was low, rough, and completely devoid of reprimand.

The words hit the room like a bomb. Blair stopped sobbing. Eleanor froze with a towel in her hand. They stared at Donte in absolute disbelief.

Alvie's face turned a sickly shade of pale. The fact that his terrifying uncle was praising his wife made his stomach twist with a sickening insecurity.

Gene frowned slightly. She looked up at Donte, her guard instantly rising. This man was dangerous.

Donte didn't look at anyone else. He ordered the butler to call the family doctor, then turned and walked toward the grand staircase leading to his study.

As his foot hit the first step, Donte turned his head slightly. From the corner of his eye, he looked back at the woman standing tall amidst the chaos. A faint, hidden smirk touched the corner of his mouth before he disappeared upstairs.