Chapter 4 - The Tables Turn
Beatrice’s aristocratic composure fractured for a fraction of a second. Her pale cheeks flushed a mottled pink.
"That... that's impossible," Beatrice stammered, her hands gripping the back of her wrought-iron chair. "The Hayes family—you're from Boston. Your father was—"
"My father built the tunnels your precious commuter trains run through, Mrs. Kensington," Arthur interrupted smoothly, his tone dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "And my company happens to own the controlling debt on three major commercial blocks in downtown Hartford, including the very building where your husband’s bank keeps its primary reserve accounts."
He turned his head slightly, scanning the circle of wealthy women who had spent the last hour dissecting Sophia’s social standing. Every single one of them suddenly found their teacups intensely fascinating.
"I walk into this room," Arthur continued, his eyes returning to Beatrice, "and I find my sister—an independent, self-made architectural consultant whose firm turns down projects larger than this entire estate—standing here soaked in ice water because a group of insecure women with too much inheritance and too little character decided to remind her of her 'place'."
"Arthur, stop," Sophia murmured, touching his arm. She didn't want a scene; she wanted out.
"I won't stop, Soph," Arthur said gently, patting her hand. Then his expression hardened again as the conservatory doors opened once more.
This time, it was Theodore.
Theo walked in holding his phone, looking annoyed, his tie slightly crooked. "Mom, sorry about that, the London branch was—"
He stopped dead in his tracks.
May you like
He saw Sophia, shivering beneath another man's overcoat. He saw his mother, pale and rigid. And he saw Arthur Hayes standing between them like an executioner.
"Theo," Sophia said, her voice entirely devoid of warmth. "Your mother just baptized me with ice water."
