The helicopter blades chopped the air, a deafening rhythm that vibrated in her teeth. Dennie wore noise-canceling headphones, staring out at the Manhattan skyline shrinking below them.
Holmes sat opposite her. He held a tablet, but he wasn't reading. He was staring at her hands.
She instinctively pulled her sleeves down over her knuckles. There was a faint, yellowing bruise on her index finger from where she'd hit Keith's elbow.
"What happened to your hand?" His voice came through the headset, clear and intimate.
She didn't flinch. "Yoga. I lost my balance."
Holmes smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Yoga. Dangerous sport."
The chopper touched down on the sprawling lawn of the Hamptons estate. The grass flattened under the wind.
Harrison Wilson, the patriarch, stood on the porch leaning on a cane. He looked like an old lion-scarred, mean, and still dangerous.
Holmes gripped her hand as they exited. His grip was tight. Too tight. "Play your part," he hissed in her ear.
They walked into the grand foyer. Victoria, his grandmother, was holding court in her wheelchair. Vanessa, Holmes's sister-in-law, was there with her daughter, Chloe.
Vanessa hated Dennie. She thought she was trash.
"Dennie," Vanessa announced, her voice shrill. "I heard you two were splitting up. Such a pity. I suppose the money ran out?"
The room went quiet.
Dennie opened her mouth to speak, but Holmes pulled her against his side. "Rumors. We are happier than ever."
Harrison banged his cane on the floor. "Enough. Men, in the study. Now."
Holmes left her. She was abandoned in the shark tank.
In the study, Harrison threw a file onto the desk. "The trust fund bylaws have changed. No heir, no voting rights on the board. You need a child, Holmes. Or you lose control."
Holmes's jaw tightened. They were cornering him.
In the living room, Vanessa was circling Dennie. "So, what will you do now? Go back to... whatever it is you did before?"
Chloe, the teenager, looked up from her phone. "Aunt Dennie? There's a video on TikTok. It looks like you."
Her stomach plummeted.
Holmes walked back into the room, followed by Harrison.
"What video?" Harrison asked.
Vanessa snatched the phone and cast it to the massive TV screen above the fireplace.
There it was. Grainy, shaky footage of a woman in a black dress breaking a man's arm and stabbing another with a shoe.
The room went dead silent.
She closed her eyes. This was it. The end.
"Look," Vanessa sneered. "She's a savage. A street fighter."
Harrison Wilson stared at the screen. He watched the elbow strike. He watched the takedown.
Then, he threw his head back and laughed. A booming, terrifying sound.
"Good!" he roared. "Finally! Some blood in this family!"
He looked at Dennie with newfound respect. "That's good stock, Holmes. That's the kind of mother we need for the next generation."
