Chapter 8 - The Confrontation at the Estate
Victoria spun around, dropping her crowbar onto the hardwood floor with a loud CLANG.
Standing at the doorway was Lucas. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wore a black tactical sweater, his arms folded across his massive chest, his expression colder than the storm raging outside the window.
Sitting behind the grand oak desk was Clara, calmly holding a glass of warm tea, looking at Victoria without a single trace of fear.
"We were wondering when you'd show up, Victoria," Clara said softly, setting her tea cup down on the saucer.
"You..." Victoria stammered, backing into the wall, clutching the bottle of lighter fluid tightly. "You set a trap for me!"
"You set the trap for yourself three weeks ago when you stepped on my wife," Lucas said, taking a slow, deliberate step into the room. "Did you really think my estate security didn't flag your ankle monitor the second you stepped within two miles of this property?"
"Get away from me!" Victoria shrieked, unscrewing the cap of the lighter fluid and splashing it across the leather armchair. "I’ll ignite it! I’ll burn this room to ashes!"
Before she could pull a lighter from her pocket, Lucas moved with terrifying, lethal speed.
He closed the ten-foot distance in a fraction of a second, grabbing Victoria’s wrist with a grip like a steel vise. He twisted her arm downward, forcing her to drop the bottle, before pulling her arms behind her back and pinning her against the wall with absolute physical dominance.
CLICK.
The estate’s chief security officer stepped into the room, snapping heavy metal restraints onto Victoria’s wrists.
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"Attempted arson, breaking and entering, violation of a protective order, and felony bail jumping," Lucas whispered in her ear, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "You just added fifteen years to your prison sentence, sister."
Victoria broke down into hysterical, pathetic sobs as she was dragged down the stairs in chains, her frantic screams swallowed by the roaring thunder outside.
