Chapter 2 - The Ejection of the Glitzy and the Arrival of the Warmth
The silence that followed Dominic’s command was so heavy it felt like an atmospheric pressure change. Cassandra DuPont, a woman used to having the world revolve around her perfectly manicured fingertips, looked as if she had been slapped.
“Dominic, you’re not serious,” she purred, though the edge of her voice had curdled. “Because of this… this mess? Because this woman tripped over her own feet? You’re trading me for a nanny who smells like a Starbucks dumpster?”
Dominic didn’t look at her. He didn’t even acknowledge her existence anymore. He turned his attention back to Beatrice, whose face was currently a shade of crimson that defied the laws of biology.
“You’re hired,” he said. The words were not a negotiation; they were a fact, etched into the air.
“I—I beg your pardon?” Beatrice stammered, her fingers still twitching with nervous energy.
“Starting now,” he continued, his eyes shifting briefly to Leo, who had retreated slightly behind him but was still clutching that orange crayon like a holy relic. “Cassandra is leaving. You will find your quarters, get settled, and then you will tell me how you managed to make my son do that.”
“Do what?”
“Smile,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a register so raw it made Beatrice’s heart ache. “He hasn’t smiled since the funeral. Not for the therapists. Not for the tutors. Not for me.”
Cassandra let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “He’s a child, Dominic! He’s probably just shocked by her sheer clumsiness. Everyone laughs at a clown, don’t they?”
May you like
Dominic finally turned his gaze toward the supermodel. His eyes were no longer cold; they were dark, predatory, and utterly devoid of mercy. “You have ten minutes to remove your belongings from this house, Cassandra. If I see a single item of yours left after that, it will be donated to a thrift store in a neighborhood you wouldn’t be caught dead in.”
He walked away, his stride long and purposeful, leaving Beatrice standing in the middle of a puddle of cold coffee and broken crayons, the absolute epicenter of a storm she didn't understand.
