Chapter 338
Graham’s Point Of View
They knew him. Of course they knew him. The recognition hit me even through my pain-fogged mind, adding another layer to this nightmare. Roman was the same man who had walked into our home months ago to collect the finalized divorce agreements I had been forced to sign after the scandal broke. He was the one who had dropped the papers on my father’s desk with a smug, silent smirk, enjoying every second of our humiliation, savoring our downfall like fine wine.
My father stepped down the stairs, each footfall deliberate and heavy, measured despite his rage. His face turned an ugly, dangerous shade of purple as he stared Roman down, the color of a man unaccustomed to being challenged, especially on his own property. I’d seen that look before… right before he destroyed a competitor’s company, right before he ruined someone’s career with a single phone call. It was the look of a man who believed his power absolute.
“What the hell do you want here?” Sebastian roared, his fists clenching at his sides until his knuckles went white, the tendons standing out like cords. “And what did you do to my son?! Speak, you piece of trash, before I have my men paint this driveway with your brains p>
The threat hung in the air, heavy and real. My father wasn’t a man who made idle promises.
Roman didn’t even flinch. He moved with deliberate slowness, reaching behind his ear to retrieve his cigarette with the casual ease of someone completely in control. He lit it with a small metal lighter, the flame steady despite the tension crackling through the air like electricity before a storm. He blew a long stream of grey smoke right into the space between them, the gesture calculated to infuriate, a silent statement of disrespect.
“Well Roman said, his voice smooth and completely deadpan, almost bored, as if discussing something mundane. “He got exactly what he deserved, Sebastian p>
The words landed like a slap. I felt my mother’s grip tighten on my arm, her nails digging into my skin through the ruined fabric.
“What do you mean?!” my father screamed, taking a massive step forward, his entire body coiled with barely restrained violence. His chest heaved under his silk robe, his face contorted with rage that made him almost unrecognizable. “My son is completely bloody, he can barely stand on his feet, and you dare say he got what he deserved?! In my own house?!” His voice rose to a roar that echoed off the mansion walls. “I’ll kill you myself! Guards, get him! Take him down right now p>
The four security men around the driveway immediately moved, their training kicking in despite their shock. Their hands reached inside their jackets for their holstered weapons, stepping toward the Mercedes with practiced efficiency, forming a tactical formation they’d drilled countless times. I’d seen these men handle threats before… they were professionals, ex-military, the best money could buy. Men my father trusted to protect what was his.
Roman didn’t wait. In one lightning-fast, liquid motion that spoke of years of experience in situations far more dangerous than this, his hand dropped to his waist. A heavy black pistol cleared his leather jacket before my father’s men could even unclip their holsters. The movement was so smooth it looked choreographed, like a deadly dance he’d performed a hundred times before.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three sharp, deafening reports blasted through the courtyard, the sound bouncing off the limestone walls of the mansion and echoing back at us in waves. The gunshots seemed impossibly loud, ringing in my ears and drowning out everything else… my mother’s scream, my father’s shout, my own ragged breathing. Time seemed to slow, each moment stretching into eternity.
Three of the security guards instantly dropped to the gravel, letting out sharp, agonizing groans as they clutched their left thighs. Blood quickly soaked through their dark uniform trousers, spreading in dark stains that looked black against the fabric. The precision was terrifying, each shot placed exactly where Roman intended, disabling but not killing, a demonstration of skill that spoke volumes about who we were dealing with.
This wasn’t random violence. This was controlled, professional, calculated. The remaining guard froze completely, his hands stuck in mid-air, his face turning entirely white as he realized how outmatched they were, how quickly their advantage had evaporated.
My mother shrieked at the top of her lungs, covering her ears as she stumbled back against the stairs, her legs giving out beneath her. Her knees knocked together in pure, unvarnished terror, her entire body shaking.
The composed socialite I’d known my entire life had vanished, replaced by a frightened woman confronting real violence for perhaps the first time in her sheltered life. The world she’d built… of charity galas and country clubs, of carefully curated appearances and controlled environments, had just shattered around her.
Roman kept the gun trained on my father’s chest, his arm unwavering, steady as stone. Smoke drifted lazily from the barrel, curling upward into the morning sunlight like a ghost.
“This is just a message from Jaxx,” he said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet pitch that made the entire courtyard go still. Every word fell like ice. He looked past my father, his eyes locking onto my shaking form with an intensity that made my blood run cold. “Tell your son to stay away from his woman p>
My father gasped, his eyes darting from the bleeding guards sprawled on the gravel back to Roman’s pistol. The color had drained from his face, leaving him ashen and suddenly older. “His woman? Who the hell is that?! What woman?!” The desperation in his voice was something I’d never heard before… my father, who commanded boardrooms and bent politicians to his will, reduced to a frightened old man.
“Elena,” Roman stated, the name hitting the air like a concrete block dropped from a great height. “Tell him to stay away from her. He shouldn’t even breathe in her direction from this moment on.” He paused, letting the silence stretch taut, watching the fear bloom in my father’s eyes before continuing. “Because let me tell you something, Sebastian… the next time I bring him here, it won’t be in the back seat of my car. It’ll be in a body bag.” He tilted his head slightly, a predator studying wounded prey. “Make sure he remembers that every time he looks in the mirror and sees what I’ve done to his pretty face p>
The words ’body bag’ seemed to echo off the high windows of the estate, reverberating through the shocked silence that had settled over the courtyard like a shroud.
My mother let out a weak, choking sound – something between a sob and a gasp. Her eyes rolled back as her legs gave out completely, her body crumpling like paper. She collapsed onto the manicured grass near the flowerbeds, unconscious from the sheer shock of witnessing her son’s destruction.
“Maltida!” my father yelled, but he didn’t dare move to help her. His feet remained rooted to the spot, his eyes glued to the black metal barrel in Roman’s hand. Fear had overridden every other instinct, even his love for his wife of forty years.
Roman didn’t say another word. He let out a small, satisfied smirk… the expression of a man who knew he’d delivered his message perfectly, who understood the power he wielded, then tucked the pistol back into his jacket with practiced ease. He stepped into the driver’s seat of the SUV, slammed the door with a finality that made me flinch, threw the car into reverse, and tore down the long driveway. The tires spat a massive cloud of dust and white stones behind him as he vanished through the iron gates, leaving chaos in his wake.
After the car disappeared from sight, everyone stood frozen in shock, as if we’d all been turned to stone by what we’d witnessed. The three wounded guards were still groaning on the gravel, their blood seeping into the pristine white stones my mother had imported from Greece. The copper smell of blood mixed with the sweet scent of her prized hydrangeas… an obscene combination. The beautiful morning had transformed into a nightmare, and I was at the center of it.
I tried to shift my weight to take a step toward the stairs, desperate to maintain some shred of dignity, but a sharp, burning pain shot up my spine from my punctured thigh. “Ah!” I winced violently, my whole body trembling as I nearly fell face-first onto the stone steps. The world tilted dangerously.
“Quickly!” my father shouted, finally snapping out of his trance as he rushed down the steps toward me. The fear in his eyes had transformed into something else… panic, perhaps, or the dawning realization of what we’d gotten ourselves into, of the forces we’d provoked. “Take him inside right now! Move! And call the family doctor immediately! Tell him we have an emergency!” His voice cracked on the last word, betraying the terror he was trying to hide.
The remaining uninjured guard and my father reached down, using a pocket knife to slice through the thick plastic zip-ties around my wrists. The sudden rush of blood back into my numb hands felt like a thousand burning needles stabbing into my flesh, making me groan out loud. They hoisted my arms over their shoulders and practically dragged my limp, heavy body through the grand entrance and into the main living room, dumping me onto the long leather sofa with little ceremony. I landed with a grunt, every muscle screaming in protest.
The room was bright, filled with expensive Italian furniture and the soft, rhythmic sound of a baby gurgling… innocent sounds that belonged to a different world. The normalcy of it felt obscene after what had just happened, like walking into a church covered in blood.
Lillian was sitting on the opposite armchair, a soft linen shawl draped over her shoulder as she nursed the baby. The second the heavy double doors banged open and she saw the state I was in… my clothes torn and filthy, my chest covered in dark crimson stains, my face swollen and bruised beyond recognition, she gasped loudly. Her face turned completely pale, the color draining away as if someone had pulled a plug.
She stood up instantly, adjusting the baby against her chest as she took three hesitant steps toward the sofa. Her hands were shaking, her eyes wide with horror. “Oh my god… Graham? What… what happened to you? Who did this?” The genuine concern in her voice, the tenderness I’d once craved from her, only made everything worse. It felt like salt in an open wound.
I leaned my head back against the leather cushion, closing my eyes as a wave of pure, exhausting bitterness washed over me. I looked at her… at her worried face, at the child that had cost me my marriage, my reputation, and my sanity, and a dark, venomous wave of anger exploded behind my teeth.
All of this, every single moment of pain and humiliation, could be traced back to my own weakness. To her. To the moment I’d let desire override judgment and destroyed everything I’d built with Elena.
“None of your damn business,” I spat out, my voice raw and cracking as a drop of blood fell from my split lip onto the expensive leather. The words came out harsher than I’d intended, but I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t contain the rage that had been building since Roman’s fists first connected with my face. I turned my face away from her, staring blankly at the high ceiling with its ornate molding and crystal chandelier. “Focus on feeding the baby and leave me the hell alone, Lillian. Just get out of my sight p>