Chapter 3 - The Birthday Party’s End
Back at the mansion,
the party was finally winding down.
The guests had long since left,
whispering about the scene they had witnessed.
Russell sat in his leather armchair,
sipping a glass of twenty-year-old scotch.
Gwendolyn sat on the arm of the chair,
her hand resting on his shoulder.
“You did the right thing,
Russell,”
she cooed.
“She needs to learn respect.”
Russell grunted,
staring at the fireplace.
“I don't like being lied to,”
he said.
“Especially by my own wife.”
“And that child...
she’s becoming just like Heather.”
Gwendolyn nodded,
hiding her smirk behind her glass.
“It’s a shame,”
she said.
“But at least now you know the truth.”
She thought about the dress she had shredded herself.
It had been so easy.
A pair of scissors,
a few tears,
and a well-timed sob.
She had wanted Russell for years,
and Heather was the only thing in her way.
She didn't care about the child.
She didn't care about the blood on the floor.
She only cared about the Vaughn name and the fortune that came with it.
“I think I’ll go check on them,”
Russell said,
setting his glass down.
“No,”
Gwendolyn said,
pulling him back.
“Let them stay there for the night.”
“Let the cold teach them a lesson.”
Russell hesitated,
then sat back down.
“You’re right.”
Suddenly,
the lights in the room flickered.
The grand chandelier hummed and then went black.
The music system cut out with a sharp pop.
“What happened?”
Gwendolyn asked,
clutching Russell’s arm.
“The power must have gone out,”
he said,
standing up.
He walked to the window and looked outside.
The entire street was dark,
except for one thing.
A line of black SUVs was pulling into his driveway.
There were five of them,
moving in perfect synchronization.
They didn't have their headlights on,
but they moved with a terrifying precision.
“Who is that?”
Gwendolyn whispered.
Russell didn't answer.
He felt a sudden,
primal fear rising in his chest.
He reached for his phone,
but the screen was black.
“My phone is dead,”
he said.
“Mine too,”
Gwendolyn added,
her voice trembling.
A loud bang echoed through the house.
The front doors,
heavy oak and reinforced steel,
flew off their hinges.
The sound was like a bomb going off.
Russell grabbed a heavy poker from the fireplace.
“Stay behind me!”
he shouted.
But the men who entered the house didn't look like burglars.
They were dressed in expensive suits,
moving with the grace of predators.
One man walked at the front,
his presence filling the room.
It was Grant Walton.
He didn't look at Russell.
He didn't look at the luxury decor.
He looked at the door leading to the basement.
“Where is she?”
Grant asked,
his voice a low rumble.
“Who the hell are you?”
Russell demanded,
stepping forward.
“Get out of my house!”
Jax Walton stepped out from behind his brother.
He moved so fast Russell didn't even see him.
In one motion,
Jax took the poker from Russell’s hand and snapped it in two.
He then grabbed Russell by the throat and lifted him off the floor.
“He asked you a question,”
Jax said.
“Where.
May you like
Is.
She?”
