Chapter 4

June dragged her hands down her face, her fingers digging into her skin. She physically recoiled at the thought of hitting a child, especially Tristan, the little terror of the house.

The red countdown timer in her eyes began to flash violently. A sharp, electrical sting bit into the base of her skull, forcing her muscles to move.

She gritted her teeth and pushed the study door open. Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked toward the chaos in the main hall.

Just as she reached the edge of the living room, a priceless Ming dynasty vase shattered into a thousand pieces less than two feet from her shoes.

June jumped back. A sharp piece of porcelain sliced across her calf, leaving a thin, stinging line of red.

She snapped her head up. Five-year-old Tristan was standing on top of the custom Italian sofa, holding a heavy crystal ashtray above his head.

Seven-year-old Cole stood on the landing of the grand staircase. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his face an emotionless mask as he watched the destruction.

Tristan saw June. Instead of freezing, his face twisted into a bratty sneer. He hurled the crystal ashtray straight at the massive flat-screen TV.

The impact sounded like a gunshot. The screen spider-webbed into black cracks. Tristan threw his head back and let out a high-pitched, triumphant laugh.

Three maids were huddled in the corner near the dining room, physically trembling, too terrified to intervene.

June stared at the ruined room. A very real, very hot surge of anger rushed up her spine. This was her house now.

Cole looked down from the stairs. His voice was perfectly polite, but entirely devoid of warmth. "Good morning, Mother."

June looked up. She caught the dark, mocking gleam in Cole's eyes. He was waiting for her to lose her mind.

She realized instantly that Cole wasn't just watching. He was enabling his brother's meltdown just to trigger her.

Tristan pointed a small finger at her from the sofa. "Go back to your room, you old witch! I don't want to look at you!"

June inhaled slowly. She ignored the system's demand for a dramatic, screaming fit. Her face turned to stone.

She didn't scream. She didn't throw a tantrum. She stepped forward, her heels crunching over the broken glass and porcelain.

The steady, rhythmic sound of her steps echoed in the massive hall. The sheer calm radiating from her felt heavy and dangerous.

Tristan's laughter died. He lowered his arm, his eyes widening as she approached without a single word.

Cole frowned. His fingers twitched inside his pockets. This wasn't the reaction he had calculated.

June reached the sofa. Without a second of hesitation, her hand shot out and clamped around Tristan's wrist like a vice.

Tristan yelped in pain. He dropped the throw pillow he was holding.

He immediately started thrashing, twisting his small body wildly like a feral cat, snapping his teeth toward the back of her hand.

June was faster. Her free hand grabbed the back of his collar. She flipped him over and pinned him face-down across the back of the sofa.

Tristan panicked. He kicked his legs in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Let me go! I'm going to tell Daddy to fire you!"

Cole couldn't maintain his act anymore. He rushed down the stairs, lowering his shoulder to physically shove June away from his brother.

June caught his movement in her peripheral vision. She snapped her head toward him, her eyes blazing with a terrifying intensity.

She pointed a single finger right at Cole's face. Her voice was as cold as crushed ice. "Step back, Cole. It's not your turn yet."

Cole froze. The sheer authority in her voice hit him like a wall. He stopped in his tracks, his fists clenching tightly at his sides.

Having neutralized the older brother, June turned her attention back to the thrashing child pinned under her hand. She raised her right hand high into the air, aiming straight for Tristan's backside.