The Wrath Of Adrian Morgan

Chapter 3: The Slap Came Faster Than Expected

"That's none of your business," Adrian said, and the calm in his voice was worse than shouting.

Lupita's laugh came out sharp, delighted, like she'd been waiting all morning for an opening. "None of my business? Sweetheart, I am the business. I drew up the paper that just made you a broke single father." She tapped the folder against her palm. "You should be thanking me instead. Most women in my position would've let you rot for alimony."

"You're a bad lady," Riley said from the hallway, small and fierce, one hand gripping the door frame.

The room went quiet for exactly one second before Lupita's face twisted.

"Excuse me?" She crouched down to Riley's height, voice dropping into something sweet and poisonous. "Nobody wanted you, you know that? Your mother signed you away in about four minutes. Didn't even ask what color the walls should be in your new room." She straightened back up, satisfied, like she'd landed a punch.

Riley's chin trembled. Her eyes filled fast, the way a kid's do, no warning, just suddenly overflowing.

Adrian didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Apologize to her."

"Or what?" Lupita's smile didn't waver. "You'll call your imaginary rich friends?"

"I said apologize to my daughter."

"Why would I apologize to a little bastard whose own—"

The slap landed before she finished the sentence.

It wasn't loud, not the movie kind of loud, just a short, flat crack that seemed to use up all the air in the room. Lupita's head snapped sideways. Her hand flew to her cheek, fingers spread, eyes wide with a shock that hadn't caught up to her face yet.

"You can say whatever you want about me," Adrian said, low, even. "I've had eight years of practice not caring. But you don't get to touch her with your filthy mouth. Not once. Not ever."

"You dare hit me." Lupita's voice cracked upward, disbelieving, thrilled almost, like she'd already started composing the phone call in her head. "Do you understand what I can do to you? I know judges. I know—"

"Call whoever you want." Adrian bent down and picked up Riley, settling her against his hip like she weighed nothing at all. "I won't be here when they arrive."

Lupita opened her mouth to fire something back — and then the sound outside stopped her cold.

Engines. Not one, not two. A low, layered rumble that built and built until it filled the whole street, and under it, unmistakably, the crunch of very expensive tires easing over a curb they had no business touching.

She crossed to the window and went still.

Six black Mercedes-Benz cars. Then two more Rolls-Royce behind them. Then, pulling in last, something long and pale and clearly foreign, the kind of car that didn't get driven so much as escorted.

"Oh my God," Lupita breathed, pressing her palm flat against the glass like she needed to confirm it was real. She spun back to Adrian, and her earlier smugness reassembled itself, brittle but fast. "Well. Would you look at that. Somebody's got money after all. Too bad it's not your money." She smoothed her blouse, chin lifting. "That's Brenna's world out there, Adrian. That's what she built. You had eight years in this house and you never once brought anything close to this. Maybe now you'll understand exactly what you threw away."

Adrian said nothing. He simply carried Riley toward the door.

The front door swung open before he reached it.

A man stepped through first — tall, dark-suited, the kind of tailoring that didn't come off a rack — and Lupita's whole posture changed in an instant, spine straightening, lips parting. He didn't look at her at all. He walked straight past her like she was part of the furniture, stopped in front of Adrian, and bowed. Not a nod. A full, formal bow, the kind you saw in old photographs of men who served families instead of companies.

"Young Master," he said. "The Ramirez household is honored."

Lupita's mouth opened, closed, opened again. "Young — Master?"

Behind the man, an elderly figure was being helped up the front steps by a woman in a tailored coat, moving carefully, one hand braced on her arm, but his eyes were already fixed past all of them, locked on Adrian with a kind of naked, disbelieving joy.

"Sir," the old man said, voice shaking, breaking on the word. "Our master we've been waiting for you."