Hank and Sherry burst through the attic door.
They froze, staring at the scene in horror. Arleen was sitting in a puddle of dirty water, her expensive gown ruined, sobbing hysterically. Chrissy stood over her, holding a duffel bag and a dog leash.
"My baby!" Sherry screamed.
She threw herself onto the wet floor, wrapping her arms around Arleen. She snapped her head up, her face twisted into a mask of pure hatred.
"Are you insane?" Sherry shrieked at Chrissy. "You attacked your sister!"
Hank didn't waste time with words. His face turned purple with rage. He lunged forward, raising his heavy, calloused hand, aiming a brutal strike right at Chrissy's temple.
Chrissy instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. She tightened her grip on her bag and braced her body for the impact.
The Maybach had pulled away minutes ago, but the piercing sound of Arleen's shriek had cut through the quiet night. Arch, who had ordered Ray to circle the block while he reviewed a forgotten legal document, heard the scream through the cracked window. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch. Mitch didn't need a word; he was already moving.
It never came.
A deafening crash echoed through the house.
The flimsy wooden front door flew open under the force of four shoulders. The peeling frame splintered instantly, the cheap lock snapping as the door slammed against the interior wall.
Hank's hand stopped in mid-air.
Everyone in the attic froze, their eyes wide with terror, staring toward the open doorway.
The sound of heavy, synchronized combat boots thundered up the narrow, creaking wooden staircase. The footsteps carried a terrifying, suffocating weight.
Four massive men dressed in identical black suits flooded into the tiny attic. They moved with military precision, instantly shoving Hank and Sherry into the corner of the room, trapping them against the wall.
Then, Mitch Nowak appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath from carrying the chair up step by step.
He pulled the custom carbon-fiber wheelchair into the room.
Arch Rush III sat perfectly still in the chair. His tailored suit didn't have a single wrinkle. His dark eyes swept the room, radiating a cold, lethal energy that dropped the temperature in the attic by ten degrees.
Hank's knees visibly shook. He lowered his hand immediately.
Arch's gaze bypassed the terrified parents and locked onto Chrissy. He took in her pale face, her defensive posture, and the way she was clutching her bag like a shield.
"Mr. Vega," Arch said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it commanded the absolute obedience of a king addressing a peasant.
"It seems your family's idea of hospitality involves assaulting my wife."
Hank swallowed hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Mr. Rush!" Hank stammered, his voice cracking. "You misunderstand! It was just a silly argument between sisters! They were just playing around!"
"Playing around," Arch repeated softly.
He slowly turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto Arleen, who was trying to hide behind her mother's legs.
Arleen whimpered. The look in Arch's eyes made her feel like she was about to be executed.
Arch lifted his right hand. He tapped his index finger against the armrest twice.
Tap. Tap.
Mitch moved instantly.
The bodyguard stepped forward, reached down, and grabbed a fistful of Arleen's perfectly styled hair.
Arleen screamed like a slaughtered pig as Mitch violently dragged her across the floorboards and forced her to her knees directly in front of Chrissy's shoes.
Hank and Sherry watched in horror, but they didn't dare make a sound. They were terrified.
"Apologize," Arch ordered. One word. No emotion.
Arleen was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. She stared at Chrissy's worn-out sneakers, completely stripped of her dignity.
"I'm sorry," Arleen choked out, tears mixing with her makeup. "I'm sorry, Chrissy. I was wrong."
Arch didn't look at Arleen. He kept his eyes fixed on Chrissy.
"Are you satisfied, Mrs. Rush?" he asked.
Chrissy was too stunned to speak. Her brain couldn't process the violent, sudden shift in power. She just stared at Arch and gave a slow, numb nod.
"Good," Arch said, his tone turning brisk and impatient. "Grab your trash and let's go."
Chrissy didn't need to be told twice. She gripped her duffel bag and pulled Greyson's leash. The dog growled at Hank as they walked past.
Mitch turned the wheelchair around and began pushing Arch out the door.
As they passed Hank, Arch paused. He didn't look at the older man.
"This is the last time," Arch said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "If I ever hear that you touched a single hair on her head, I will have the Vega Group erased from California by tomorrow morning."
Arch signaled Mitch. They moved down the stairs, leaving the Vega family trembling in the dark attic.
