Chapter 4 - The Serpent's StrikeThe afternoon dissolved into early evening. True to his word, Jameson had left behind an elite security team that turned the penthouse into an impenetrable fortress. Yet, despite the luxury and safety, an uneasy tension hung in the air.
Around 6:00 p.m., while Willow was happily playing with a set of wooden blocks on the rug, my phone chimed.
It was an unknown number.
I hesitated, my heart skipping a beat. Normally, I would ignore unknown calls, but something made me answer.
"Hello?" I said cautiously.
"Claire."
The voice on the other end was cold, gravelly, and instantly recognizable.
Richard Sterling. Quentin’s father.
"Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice hardening instantly. "You are violating a court-ordered protective order by contacting me."
Richard let out a dark, mocking chuckle. "Save the legal babble for court, girl. I am calling to offer you a choice before Jameson King destroys what little reputation you have left."
"Jameson is protecting my daughter from your criminal son," I snapped, gripping the phone tightly.
"Is he?" Richard sneered. "Do you really think a billionaire like Jameson King does anything out of the goodness of his heart? Do you really believe that fairytale story about your mother’s bakery?"
My blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"
"Jameson King isn't saving you, Claire. He's using you," Richard declared ruthlessly. "Twenty years ago, Jameson didn't just sweep floors at your mother's bakery. My investigators just dug up the old police reports. Jameson King’s biological father was Arthur King—the man who went to prison for orchestrating the corporate fraud that went bankrupt and ruined your mother’s business in the first place!"
The room seemed to spin. The floor beneath my feet felt like it was giving way.
"No..." I whispered, shaking my head. "That's impossible."
"It’s the truth," Richard sneered through the speaker. "Jameson King’s father destroyed your family. Jameson came to your mother back then out of guilt. And now, he's using you to destroy Sterling Enterprises because my company was the one that bought out his father’s bankrupt assets twenty years ago. You are nothing but a pawn in his long-standing personal vendetta against my family!"
"You're lying!" I shouted, tears brimming in my eyes. "You're trying to manipulate me!"
"Check the public records yourself, Claire," Richard said coldly. "Ask him about Arthur King. Ask him why he never told you his real last name until today. If you don't drop the charges against Quentin by midnight, I will release the court records showing that Jameson King manipulated this entire custody battle for his own corporate gain. You will lose Willow to child protective services for bringing her into the middle of a mob war."
Click.
The line went dead.
I stood in the middle of the breathtaking living room, the phone slipping from my numb fingers and clattering against the hardwood floor.
Arthur King.
I remembered that name. When I was a little girl, before my mother opened the bakery, my parents had lost their home and their savings because of a massive corporate scam run by a company called King Holdings. My father had died of a heart attack shortly after, broken by the stress.
My mother had spent the rest of her life working twenty-hour days at the bakery just to keep us fed.
Was Jameson the son of the man who ruined my family?
Was everything he said today—the promise to my mother, the rescue in the courtroom, the tenderness toward Willow—just a carefully orchestrated lie driven by guilt and corporate revenge?
Just as the overwhelming wave of doubt threatened to drown me, the front door clicked open.
Jameson walked in.
He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, his jacket slung over his arm, but his face lit up the moment his eyes found me.
"Claire," he said warmly, stepping into the foyer. "Richard Sterling’s legal team just surrendered. We blocked every media outlet, and the federal judge denied Quentin’s bail. It's completely over—"
He stopped dead in his tracks.
He saw my face. He saw the tears streaming down my cheeks, the pale terror in my eyes, and the phone lying on the floor.
"Claire?" Jameson asked, his warm expression instantly morphing into deep concern. He took a fast step toward me. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"Don't come any closer," I gasped out, taking a step backward.
Jameson froze. A look of profound confusion and hurt flickered across his dark eyes. "Claire... what is it?"
"Who was Arthur King?" I demanded, my voice trembling with raw, agonizing heartbreak.
Jameson’s entire body went rigid. All the color drained from his face, leaving him looking ghastly pale in the warm evening light.
The silence that followed was louder than any thunder.
"Claire..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "Who told you that name?"
"Richard Sterling," I choked out, tears overflowing. "Is it true, Jamie? Was your father the man who ruined my parents? Was your father the reason my dad died broken, and my mom spent her life slaving over an oven?"
May you like
Jameson stood there, his chest heaving, looking at me with eyes full of an agonizing, soul-crushing grief. He didn't deny it. He didn't lie.
"Yes," Jameson whispered, his voice barely audible. "It's true."
