Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm at the Estate
The sun was beginning to set, casting long, bruised shadows across the manicured lawns of the Lake Forest estate. I didn't go back to the hospital immediately; Dr. Hayes had assured me mother and son were under 24-hour armed security detail with strict orders that no one—especially Margaret Carter—was allowed near them.
Instead, I drove back to the silent, empty mansion.
When I unlocked the front door, the smell of roasted lobster and French wine still hung heavily in the foyer, mocking the horror that had unfolded just hours earlier. But the house was no longer my sanctuary. It was a crime scene.
I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was packed to bursting with prime cuts of meat, organic berries, imported cheeses, and vintage champagne—all bought with my corporate card for my mother and her high-society friends, while the woman carrying my child was forced to eat scraps off the floor.
"Sebastian?"
A tentative voice echoed from the hallway. I turned to see Ryan standing in the doorway, looking pale and thoroughly shaken. Behind him stood my mother, her face twisted in a mask of indignant fury.
"How dare you lock us out of the guest suites?" Margaret snapped, marching into the kitchen as if she still owned the place. "Ryan had to practically break the electronic gate to get us back inside! Do you have any idea what kind of humiliation I suffered when your security guards told us we were banned from our own home?"
I didn't move. I leaned against the marble island, my arms crossed over my chest, watching them with a cold, dead gaze that made my mother finally pause.
"Where is she?" Margaret demanded, though her voice lacked its usual absolute authority. "Is she still playing the victim at the hospital? Honestly, Sebastian, women like that—women from nothing—they don't know how to handle wealth. They look for sympathy everywhere. I was hardening her up, teaching her discipline so she’d be a proper mother to the Carter heir—"
"Discipline," I repeated softly.
"Yes! Discipline!" Margaret insisted, taking another step forward. "When you were a boy in Indiana, did I spare the rod? Did I let you sit around eating grapes and whining? No! I made you tough. And that girl—she was ruining my grandson with her weakness. Now tell me which room she’s in so I can go down there and straighten her out."
Ryan swallowed hard, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Uh, Mom... maybe you should shut up for a second. Look at his face."
"Shut up, Ryan!" Margaret hissed, turning her wrath on her younger son. "This is why you're a failure who has to live off your brother's coat-tails—because you have no spine!"
"She had old fractures on her ribs, Mother," I said.
The kitchen went dead silent. The hum of the refrigerator sounded like a roaring engine.
Margaret blinked, her expression hardening into stubborn denial. "What are you babbling about?"
"The forensic medical report from Northwestern Hospital," I continued, my voice steady, rising in volume with every word. "Old rib fractures. Defensive bruises on her forearms. Ligature marks on her wrists. Chronic starvation that forced her body to eat its own muscle mass while she was eight months pregnant with my son."
Margaret let out a sharp, scoffing laugh, though a flicker of panic danced in her eyes. "Oh, please! She fell! You know how clumsy she is, always tripping over things, probably sneaking around the pantry in the dark and gorging herself on junk—"
"Shut your mouth," I whispered.
I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a thick manila folder, and slammed it down onto the marble island.
"That is the police report," I said coldly. "And attached to it is a full transcript of the security camera footage from the hallway outside your private suite. Do you think I didn't install smart-home cameras when I bought this estate? Do you think I didn't want to make sure my pregnant wife was safe while I was flying across continents?"
Margaret's face went completely grey. The blood drained from her cheeks so fast she looked like a corpse.
"You... you had cameras in the private wing?" she whispered.
"Every single hallway," I said, stepping away from the island and walking toward her. "I watched the footage on my tablet in the car on the way back from the hospital. I watched you lock her in the pantry for twelve hours because she accidentally dropped a glass of orange juice. I watched you slap her across the face when she asked for a prenatal vitamin instead of pouring your wine. And I watched you force her to crawl under the dining table like a dog to eat your guests' leftovers."
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Ryan stared at our mother, his mouth hanging open in sheer horror. "Mom... you... you did that? To a pregnant woman?"
"She was ungrateful!" Margaret shrieked, finally dropping the facade and lunging forward with a hysterical cry. "She took my son away from me! When you became a billionaire, you forgot who wiped your nose, who starved herself in Indiana so you could wear clean shirts to school! She stole your love, Sebastian! She deserved everything she got!"
