Chapter 5 - The Phantom from the Past
The morning sun cast a bright, crisp light over Newport Harbor, belying the storm that was about to hit Breakers Mansion from an entirely unexpected direction.
In the grand kitchen, Abigail was supervising the boys’ breakfast while reviewing a catering schedule for an upcoming charity gala on her tablet. The household had settled into a rhythm so foreign and comforting that the staff still walked around in a state of mild disbelief.
Suddenly, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed down the polished marble hallway.
The kitchen doors slammed open. It wasn't Pedro, and it wasn't Marcus Vance.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, disheveled man in an expensive, rumpled designer suit. His hair was messy, his eyes bloodshot, and an aura of frantic desperation clung to him like cheap cologne.
Ben and Jerry froze, their forks dropping against their plates with a loud clatter.
Abigail snapped her head up from her tablet. The moment she saw the man standing in the doorway, the blood drained completely from her face, leaving her skin chalk-white. The tablet slipped from her fingers, shattering against the tile floor.
“Abigail,” the man panted, a manic, desperate smile stretching across his face as he stepped past the kitchen island. “Found you. God, you’re hard to track down. Living in a billionaire’s fortress now? Is that why you stopped answering my calls?”
Abigail stood up so violently her chair screeched backward against the floor. “Ethan. What are you doing here?”
Ethan Parker—her ex-fiancé, a charming, manipulative gambling addict whose debts had forced Abigail to flee Boston six months ago—spread his hands wide, taking in the opulent kitchen with greedy, calculating eyes.
“I had to see you, Abby!” Ethan insisted, stepping closer, ignoring the terrified looks on the twins' faces. “I’m clean! I swear I’m clean this time! I just need a bridge loan—ten grand, twenty grand, pocket change for the guy who owns this place. You’re working for Pedro Jacobs, right? You can get to his accounts. We can clear my debts and start over!”
“Get out,” Abigail hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and terror that she had fought so hard to bury. “You have no right to be here. Leave this house right now, or I swear to God I will call security.”
“Security?” Ethan laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Let them come! I’ll tell the media that the high-and-mighty Pedro Jacobs has an embezzler hiding out as his kids' nanny—!”
Before Ethan could finish his threat, a shadow fell over the doorway.
The temperature in the kitchen plummeted by twenty degrees.
Pedro Jacobs stood in the archway. He hadn't heard the whole conversation, but he had heard enough. His massive frame filled the doorway, his obsidian eyes locked onto Ethan Parker with a look of such concentrated, lethal fury that the smaller man actually staggered backward.
“Who the hell are you?” Pedro asked, his voice a low, vibrating hum of pure violence.
Ethan swallowed hard, suddenly realizing he had stepped into the cage of an apex predator. “I—I’m a friend of Abigail’s. We go way back. Just having a private conversation—!”
“You threatened my household,” Pedro interrupted, taking two slow, deliberate steps toward Ethan. “You threatened the woman who takes care of my sons. And you walked uninvited into my home.”
Pedro didn't call security. He didn't wait for Mateo or the estate guards.
With terrifying speed, Pedro crossed the kitchen, grabbed Ethan by the lapels of his rumpled designer suit, and hoisted him bodily off the floor as if he weighed nothing more than a feather. Ethan let out a choking gasp, his legs kicking uselessly in the air.
“Dad!” Ben cried out in alarm.
Abigail rushed forward, placing a hand urgently on Pedro’s arm. “Pedro, stop! Don't dirty your hands with him. Let security handle it.”
Pedro looked down at Abigail. The fierce, burning rage in his eyes softened the moment they locked onto hers. He gave a single, curt nod, then turned toward the hallway.
With a roar of effort, Pedro threw Ethan straight out of the kitchen. The man crashed hard against the marble hallway floor, sliding ten feet before coming to a groaning stop.
Within three seconds, two massive estate security guards materialized from the shadows, grabbing Ethan by his arms and hoisting him up.
“Toss him off the property,” Pedro ordered, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. “If he comes within five miles of Breakers Mansion again, throw him in the Atlantic.”
“Yes, Mr. Jacobs!” the guards barked, dragging the whimpering, broken man toward the front doors.
The kitchen fell back into a stunned silence.
Ben and Jerry were staring at their father with wide, awestruck eyes. Pedro looked like an absolute superhero—unyielding, protective, and invincible.
Pedro walked back into the kitchen, his breathing slightly elevated, his jaw tight. He looked down at Abigail, who was standing by the counter, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she tried to compose herself.
“Are you alright?” Pedro asked, his voice dropping into a soft, private register meant only for her.
Abigail looked up, tears of shock and overwhelming relief shimmering in her eyes. She nodded slowly. “I am now. Thank you, Pedro.”
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It was the first time she had ever used his first name without a title attached to it.
And somewhere deep inside Pedro Jacobs, a dam broke completely.
