Chapter 3 - The Confession in the Marble Hall
Julian groaned, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pristine marble floor as he pressed a trembling hand to his swelling jaw. He looked up at me with wide, panicked eyes, the sophisticated corporate mask completely dissolving into raw, pathetic cowardice.
"Are you insane?!" Julian screamed, scrambling backward until his spine hit the carved wooden banister. "You broke my jaw! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
I stood over him, my chest heaving, my fists clenched so tightly my fingernails bit deep into my palms. I could feel the old instincts—the dark, merciless reflexes I had spent ten years trying to bury beneath boardroom meetings and philanthropic galas—surging back to the surface with terrifying clarity.
"St. Catherine's," I whispered, my voice dangerously low as I stepped closer, towering over him like an executioner.
Julian flinched, his eyes darting away from mine. "What? I don't know what you're talking about—"
"St. Catherine's Medical Center," I repeated, my voice rising in volume and lethal intensity. "Room 347. Elena is lying there unconscious, severely malnourished, and sixteen weeks pregnant with my child. And my security detail has photographs of you walking into her apartment building forty minutes before she collapsed."
The color completely vanished from Julian’s face. He swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively, but he couldn't find a single lie fast enough to bridge the gap.
"You did this," I growled, grabbing him by the silk collar of his bathrobe and hauling him to his feet with effortless strength, slamming him hard against the oak wall behind him. "You drained her accounts. You cut off her medical access. You sent her those anonymous threats, didn't you? You wanted to break her down so completely that she wouldn't even have the strength to fight back!"
"I had to!" Julian shrieked, panic cracking his voice as his hands clawed uselessly at my wrists. "You don't understand, Luke! Father left seventy percent of the voting shares to you in the primary trust, but there was a secondary contingency clause! If you divorced, or if you had an heir out of wedlock without corporate board approval—the entire estate would be reallocated to the secondary line of succession! Me!"
A cold, dead silence fell over the foyer.
Marco stepped quietly through the front door, his hand resting casually inside his jacket, his cold eyes fixed on my brother with undisguised contempt.
"So you decided to murder my wife and my unborn child just to pad your bank account?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"I didn't try to kill her!" Julian sobbed, spit flying from his lips. "I just wanted her to sign the financial waiver! I intercepted her mail, I blocked her phone calls, and I made sure she couldn't reach you! I wanted her gone so you'd be too broken to fight me for the board seat next month!"
For a second, I wanted to end him right there against the marble wall. I wanted to squeeze my fingers around his throat until the Mercer dynasty was rid of its most pathetic parasite.
Instead, I slowly opened my hands, stepping back and wiping my palms on my coat as if I had just touched something foul.
"You're not going to jail, Julian," I said quietly, turning my back on him.
May you like
Julian blinked, wiping blood from his chin. "What? Wh-what do you mean? You're not calling the police?"
"The police deal with criminals," I replied without turning around, walking toward the grand double doors. "And what you are going to experience isn't a trial. Marco, lock him in the estate panic room. Strip him of his phone, his cards, his car, and his title. By sunrise, he legally doesn't exist anymore."
