Chapter 4 - The Matriarch's Poison
Victoria Thorne sat in the sunroom of the sprawling Thorne Manor in Highland Park, her morning tea cooling on the marble table. At fifty-five, she was a woman whose skin had been pulled taut by the best plastic surgeons in Europe, but no surgeon could smooth out the deep, bitter lines of malice around her mouth.
The front doors of the manor didn't just open; they slammed against the wall with enough force to rattle the crystal chandelier in the foyer.
Marcus walked in, still wearing his rumpled tuxedo from the night before. His tie was gone, his collar was unbuttoned, and his eyes were bloodshot from a night spent sitting outside an operating theater.
"Marcus, really," Victoria said, adjusting her silk robe as she rose from her chair. "What is the meaning of this dramatic entrance? I’ve been trying to reach Isabella all night, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. Did you two have a lovers' quarrel at the gala?"
"Isabella is currently sitting in a holding cell at the Lew Sterrett Justice Center," Marcus said, stepping into the sunroom. He didn't sit down. He stood over his mother like a judging deity. "She’s being charged with aggravated assault on a pregnant woman, corporate espionage, and attempted murder."
Victoria’s hand shook slightly, her silver spoon clattering against the porcelain saucer. "What nonsense is this? Isabella is a Rossi. She doesn't assault people. If that... that little gallery girl from the slums had an accident, it's her own clumsy fault."
"I saw the footage, Mother," Marcus said. He pulled a digital tablet from his briefcase and laid it flat on the table, right next to her tea. He pressed play.
Victoria watched the video. Her face didn't pale with horror at the violence. Instead, her eyes narrowed with an intense, calculated irritation. "That stupid girl. I told her to handle it quietly. I told her to wait until the baby was born and then present the divorce papers."
The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Marcus. The coldness he had felt for the last twelve hours hardened into an unshakeable, permanent resolve.
"So it’s true," Marcus said, his voice a low vibration. "You planned this. You knew Khloe was pregnant with my heir, and you used Isabella to try and force a miscarriage so I would be free to marry into the Rossi fortune."
"Don't look at me with that ridiculous moral outrage, Marcus!" Victoria snapped, her voice losing its high-society veneer. "Your father left this company with three billion dollars in debt hidden in the offshore accounts! The only way to save the Thorne name was to merge with the Rossi shipping empire! Khloe was a nobody. A schoolteacher’s daughter with no connections, no dowry, and no understanding of what it means to carry this name!"
"The Thorne name doesn't mean anything if it's written in the blood of my child," Marcus said.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, wax-sealed envelope, dropping it onto the tablet.
"What is this?" Victoria asked, refusing to touch it.
"That is an emergency resolution from the board of directors," Marcus explained. "As of 4:00 AM, using the evidence of your financial complicity in Isabella’s shell companies—which Lucas recovered from her apartment last night—I have stripped you of your voting rights on the executive committee. You are no longer a trustee of the Thorne Estate. You have forty-eight hours to pack your personal belongings and vacate this manor."
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Victoria stood up, her face contorted with a rage that made her look ancient. "You can't throw me out of my own home! I am your mother!"
"My mother died the moment she allowed another woman to kick my pregnant wife," Marcus said, turning his back on her. "The security team will be outside your door in ten minutes. If you are still here in forty-eight hours, they will remove you by force."
