Chapter 2 - The Bloodline
The Calabasas estate descended into pure chaos within ten minutes.
Two paramedics rushed through the grand entryway, wheeling a collapsible stretcher. Behind them were two Los Angeles County Sheriff's deputies.
Chloe stood frozen near the kitchen island, her eyes wide as she watched the paramedics carefully roll me onto my side to assess the deep laceration and bruising on my back.
"I want to press charges," Julian said to the lead deputy, his voice steady and unwavering.
"Julian, stop!" a sharp, piercing voice echoed from the hallway.
Eleanor—Chloe’s mother—came sweeping into the kitchen. She was dressed in a beige cashmere jumpsuit, dripping in gold jewelry that my son’s money had bought her. She had been outside hosting the luncheon alongside Chloe and was now hyperventilating with rage.
"Julian, have you lost your mind?!" Eleanor barked, pointing a diamond-encrusted finger at him. "You’re bringing police into this house?! Over a stupid kitchen accident?!"
"An accident?" Julian repeated, his eyes narrowing.
"She tripped!" Eleanor lied smoothly, without missing a beat. "Martha is sixty-eight years old! She’s frail, she’s clumsy! She dropped a pot and fell down! Chloe was trying to catch her!"
I let out a weak groan from the stretcher. "She... she hit me, Julian. She called me trash... and she hit me."
"Shut up, old woman!" Eleanor snapped, dropping her polite facade entirely. "You’ve been trying to sabotage my daughter’s marriage since day one! You don't belong in a house like this! You belong in a government nursing home in Detroit!"
CRACK.
Julian’s hand slammed against the marble countertop with enough force to shatter the silence in the room. Even the deputies flinched.
"If you speak to my mother like that again," Julian said, stepping directly into Eleanor’s face, "I will have you removed from this property in handcuffs as an accomplice."
"Accomplice to what?!" Eleanor sneered, though her voice quivered slightly. "You think you can bully us? My daughter is your wife! Half of everything you own belongs to her!"
"Nothing belongs to her," Julian spat. "This house is owned by my family trust. The cars are registered under my corporate entity. The black cards were under my primary account. As of two minutes ago, Chloe doesn't even have enough money to pay for an Uber off this hill."
The deputies stepped forward. "Ma'am," the officer said, turning to Chloe. "We need you to step away from the counter and place your hands behind your back."
"What?!" Chloe shrieked, backing away into the glass doors. "No! You can't touch me! Do you know who I am?! I am Chloe Vance! I have two million followers! My husband owns Vance Global Technologies!"
"Your husband is the one filing the police report, ma'am," the officer replied calmly, pulling heavy steel handcuffs from his belt. "Now step forward."
"Mom! Do something!" Chloe shrieked, tears finally bursting through her makeup as the cold steel clicked around her wrists. "Julian! Please! I’m sorry! I lost my temper! I was stressed about the party! Please don't do this to me!"
Julian didn't look at her. He walked alongside the stretcher as the paramedics began wheeling me out toward the driveway.
"I'm right here, Mom," Julian murmured, taking my hand. "I'm right here. I'm never letting anyone hurt you again."
As they wheeled me past the massive wrought-iron front doors, I looked back one last time.
May you like
Chloe was being led out in handcuffs, screaming at the top of her lungs, while her mother franticly called her high-priced lawyers on her iPhone. The silk-clad women from the patio were standing near the front gate, filming the entire humiliation on their smartphones.
The fairy tale was officially over. The war had just begun.
