Chapter 3 Power Games in Bed

Chapter 3: Power Games in Bed

Matt's belt whistled through the air, narrowly missing Dean's head as he stumbled backward off the bed.

"Are you insane?" Dean yelled, face contorted with fury and fear. "You'd choose her over your own son?"

Matt advanced slowly, wrapping the leather strap methodically around his knuckles. "This isn't about choosing sides. This is about consequences."

Dean's eyes darted between us, calculating his odds. "She seduced me! She's been doing it for weeks!"

"While wearing this?" I gestured to my silk nightgown, torn at the shoulder. "In your father's bed?"

Security arrived at the doorway, summoned by the alarm. Matt didn't even turn. "Escort Mr. Dean to the south wing. He's confined to his quarters until further notice."

As they dragged him away, Dean's threats echoed down the hallway. "This isn't over! That bitch will pay for this!"

When we were alone, Matt sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly looking exhausted. "Are you hurt?"

"Nothing that won't heal." I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. "Did you expect this?"

"Dean has always been... entitled." His eyes met mine. "But I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to touch what's mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Is that what I am? Yours?"

Matt's fingers traced the torn strap of my nightgown, his touch feather-light. "For better or worse, Mrs. Williamson."

He left me alone for the remainder of the night, but sleep was impossible. By morning, I had formulated my plan. If I was going to survive in this snake pit, I needed to become the most venomous snake of all.

At breakfast, I chose a dress I knew would catch attention—crimson silk that hugged every curve. When I entered the dining room, conversation halted. Dean sat sullenly at one end, Matt at the head of the table, several board members scattered between them.

"Good morning, husband." I leaned down to kiss Matt's cheek, letting my hand rest on his shoulder. "I missed you this morning."

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Dean's coffee cup clattered against its saucer. Matt's surprise lasted only a moment before his arm slid around my waist. "My apologies. Business called early."

I took the seat beside him, making sure to brush my leg against his. "Then I'll have to find ways to make you want to stay in bed longer."

The board members coughed uncomfortably. Dean's knuckles whitened around his fork.

Throughout the meal, I played the role of devoted wife—feeding Matt bites from my plate, whispering in his ear, laughing at his dry comments as if they were the wittiest remarks I'd ever heard. Matt, to his credit, adapted quickly, his hand resting possessively on my thigh under the table.

When the board members left, Dean remained, seething. "Enjoying yourself?"

I smiled sweetly. "Immensely. Marriage suits me, don't you think?"

"You're pathetic," he spat. "Throwing yourself at my father to get back at me."

"Dean," Matt warned.

"No, let him speak," I said, sipping my mimosa. "I'm curious what rejection sounds like from the losing side."

Dean stood abruptly, sending his chair crashing backward. He grabbed the crystal vase from the center of the table and hurled it against the wall. Water and flowers rained down, glass shards glittering on the hardwood.

"You fucking SLUT!" he roared.

Matt's transformation was instant and terrifying. He stood slowly, methodically removing his platinum cufflinks and placing them on the table. From his pocket, he pulled a pair of thin leather gloves, working each finger in with deliberate care.

"The last person who destroyed my property," he said conversationally, "had an unfortunate accident involving their hands." He flexed his gloved fingers. "I keep the ring finger in my private collection. Third drawer, ebony box."

Dean paled. "You're bluffing."

"Try me." Matt's smile never reached his eyes. "Now apologize to my wife."

The words came out strangled. "I'm sorry."

"Good boy." Matt nodded toward the door. "Get out."

When Dean was gone, Matt removed the gloves with a sigh. "That was unnecessary drama."

"Was it true? About the finger?"

Matt's smile was enigmatic. "Does it matter?"

That afternoon, I slipped away to the east wing library, using the hidden laptop I'd stashed behind a row of first editions. The DNA results I'd stolen from Matt's study confirmed what I'd suspected—Irene was his daughter, not the Walker's biological child.

But there was more. Her DNA showed markers matching Antonio Caruso, the notorious crime lord who controlled the eastern seaboard's drug trade. If Matt knew, he was keeping it quiet—perhaps as leverage.

I altered the report, changing the paternal match from "inconclusive" to "99.9% match to Antonio Caruso," then scheduled it for release to every major news outlet at precisely 7 PM—during the Williamson Foundation Gala.

The gala was already in full swing when I made my entrance in a backless black gown. Conversations faltered as I descended the staircase. Matt met me at the bottom step, his eyes darkening as he took in my appearance.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured, kissing my hand.

"I'm counting on it." I pressed against him as we danced, feeling his body respond. Dean watched from the bar, downing whiskey like water.

At precisely 7 PM, every phone in the ballroom seemed to chime at once. The murmuring grew louder as guests read the breaking news alert. Across the room, Irene's champagne flute shattered on the marble floor.

"BREAKING: DNA REPORT REVEALS WALKER HEIRESS IS DAUGHTER OF CRIME LORD CARUSO"

The headlines flashed across phone screens, accompanied by the doctored DNA report. Irene's face drained of color as photographers swarmed her.

"Miss Walker! Did you know about your connection to the Caruso crime family?"

"Is this why you were positioned to marry into the Williamson empire?"

"Was this an attempted merger between organized crime and legitimate business?"

Matt's fingers dug into my waist. "Did you do this?" he whispered against my ear.

"Do what?" I blinked innocently. "Expose the truth? Isn't that what you wanted when you revealed I wasn't a true Walker?"

Before he could respond, the ballroom doors burst open. Men in black suits poured in, guns visible under their jackets. At their center stood Antonio Caruso himself, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, diamond pinky ring catching the chandelier light.

"Williamson!" he bellowed, eyes scanning the crowd until they locked on Matt. "You hid my daughter from me for twenty years!"

The guests scattered like frightened birds. Matt pushed me behind him, his body a shield. "Caruso, this is a private event."

Antonio's laugh was cold. "Family business trumps social niceties. Where is she?"

Irene tried to flee, but Antonio's men had already surrounded her. Her screams pierced the air as they dragged her toward their boss.

"Daddy!" She reached desperately for Matt. "Don't let them take me!"

Antonio froze, his gaze darting between Matt and Irene. "Daddy? DADDY?" His face darkened with rage. "You've been raising my flesh and blood as your own?"

Matt's voice was steel. "She's not your daughter, Antonio. The report is false."

"LIES!" Antonio roared, drawing his gun. "First you steal my child, then you deny me? No more games, Williamson. I'm taking what's mine."

As chaos erupted around us, Matt gripped my arm painfully tight. "You have no idea what you've just done," he hissed.

The room filled with screams as Antonio's men surrounded us, guns drawn. In the confusion, I felt someone grab me from behind, a cloth pressed over my mouth. As darkness claimed me, I heard Antonio's final demand:

"Return my daughter, or I burn your empire to the ground!"