Chapter 2
“Fifty seconds,” Arthur said, his voice as flat and unyielding as a sheet of ice.
Victoria’s perfect, aristocratic features faltered. For the first time since Arthur had met her, the polished mask completely slipped, revealing the terrified, calculating opportunist underneath. She looked at the shivering child in Arthur’s arms, then back to the billionaire whose empire she had just thrown away.
“Arthur, please,” she stammered, taking a step backward, her high heels clicking nervously against the wet stone. “You’re overreacting. The lighting out here is terrible, you didn’t see what you thought you saw. We can talk about this inside—”
“Forty seconds.”
Arthur took one slow, deliberate step forward. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The sheer, overwhelming presence of a father protecting his child radiated from him in waves.
Victoria swallowed hard. She looked into his eyes and realized, with a sudden, sickening clarity, that there was no manipulation left to play. She wasn’t looking at the charming, grieving widower she had so easily wrapped around her finger for the past year. She was looking at a man who would gladly tear the world apart with his bare hands to keep his daughter safe.
“Thirty seconds. If you are still on my property when the clock runs out, I will not call the police,” Arthur warned, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “I will handle you myself.”
Victoria didn’t wait to hear the rest.
She turned and fled. The elegant, confident stride she was famous for disintegrated into a frantic, clumsy scramble. Her crimson evening gown dragged against the wet patio, soaking up the pool water. Arthur stood perfectly still, holding Lily tightly to his chest, listening to the frantic clicking of Victoria’s heels echoing through the glass living room, followed by the heavy slam of the mahogany front door. A moment later, the aggressive roar of her sports car engine tore down the driveway and faded into the Hollywood Hills.
Once the silence of the night returned, Arthur finally let out a long, shaky breath. His knees felt weak, the adrenaline beginning to crash.
“Daddy?” Lily whimpered, her tiny teeth chattering against his wet suit jacket.
“I’ve got you, my sweet girl. I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, pressing a kiss to her wet hair.
He carried her inside, ignoring the puddles his soaked clothes left on the imported hardwood floors. He walked straight to her bedroom, peeled off her ruined tulle dress, and wrapped her securely in the thickest, warmest duvet he could find. He sat on the edge of her bed, holding her close until her violent shivering finally subsided.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Lily whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I didn’t mean to fall. The lady… the lady said I was bad.”
Arthur felt a fresh surge of hot, blinding rage, but he forced his face to remain gentle and calm for his daughter. He wiped the tear away with his thumb.
“Listen to me, Lily. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Arthur said, his voice thick with emotion but absolute in its certainty. “You did nothing wrong. That woman is gone, and she is never, ever coming back. I promise you.”
He stayed with her until her breathing slowed and she finally drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Once he was certain she was resting, Arthur stood up. He walked into his master bathroom, stripped off the ruined, chlorine-soaked suit, and put on a dry pair of slacks and a cashmere sweater. He wasn’t tired. He was wide awake, and he had work to do.
Arthur’s home was not just a mansion; it was a fortress, equipped with a state-of-the-art security system. He walked into his study, sat behind his heavy oak desk, and pulled up the master control panel on his computer.
He clicked on the patio cameras. The footage was in ultra-high definition.
Arthur watched the screen with cold, detached precision as the recording played back. There was Victoria, looking around to ensure the patio was empty. There was the vicious sneer on her face. And there was the deliberate, violent shove that sent a four-year-old child plunging into the deep end of the pool.
It wasn’t an accident. It was premeditated, cold-blooded attempted murder.
Arthur picked up his cell phone and dialed a number he rarely used. It rang only once before it was answered.
“Mr. Sterling,” a deep, gravelly voice said. It was Marcus, the former federal agent who now ran Arthur’s private corporate security and legal fix-it team.
“Marcus, wake up the legal team,” Arthur commanded, his tone all business. “Victoria is out. But we aren’t just breaking off the engagement. I want her utterly dismantled.”
“Understood, sir,” Marcus replied, the typing of a keyboard already clicking in the background. “What are the parameters?”
“Cancel every credit card associated with my accounts. Revoke her access to the Beverly Hills condo, the cars, and the private club memberships. Call the bank and freeze the trust I set up in her name last month,” Arthur instructed, his voice as cold as the bottom of the pool. “But that is just the financial side.”
“And the rest, sir?”
“I am sending you a video file from my patio security cameras,” Arthur said, hitting the export button on his screen. “I want you to drive to the LAPD Hollywood Division right now. Hand the file directly to the Captain. Tell him Arthur Sterling is filing charges against Victoria Vance for the attempted murder of a minor.”
There was a brief pause on the line as Marcus received the file and opened it. Arthur heard the sharp intake of breath from the seasoned security chief as he watched the footage.
“I’ll have a squad car looking for her in ten minutes, Arthur,” Marcus said, his professional tone replaced by grim determination. “She won’t see the sun rise outside of a jail cell.”
Ten miles away, Victoria Vance slammed her hands against the steering wheel of her car in frustration.
She had driven straight to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, planning to book a luxury suite for the night, calm her nerves, and figure out a way to spin the story. She would tell Arthur’s board of directors that he had suffered a mental breakdown. She would hire a PR firm. She could still win this.
But when she stood at the marble front desk, trying to book the five-thousand-dollar-a-night penthouse, the clerk had swiped her black card and frowned.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Vance, but this card is declining,” the clerk said politely.
“That’s impossible. Run it again,” Victoria snapped, her anxiety flaring.
“I have, ma’am. In fact, the issuing bank has placed a hard freeze on your profile. We cannot accept any payment from this account.”
Victoria’s stomach plummeted. Arthur had already moved.
She snatched the card back and stormed out through the revolving glass doors, pulling her phone from her purse to call her own lawyer. But as she stepped out into the cool night air under the hotel’s grand awning, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Pulling up the circular driveway were three black-and-white LAPD cruisers, their red and blue lights flashing silently, casting an eerie glow over the manicured palm trees.
Four officers stepped out, their eyes scanning the entrance before locking directly onto the woman in the ruined crimson dress.
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Victoria dropped her phone. The screen shattered on the pavement, exactly like the life she had tried to steal.
Back in the Hollywood Hills, Arthur walked quietly back into Lily’s bedroom. The house was secure. The threat was neutralized. He pulled a chair up next to his daughter’s bed, resting his hand gently over hers, and watched her sleep. The corporate world feared him for his money, but tonight, they would learn to fear him for something much more dangerous. He was a father, and his empire was finally safe.
