Chapter III: The Wrath on the Front Lawn
Holding his sobbing son securely by the shoulder, Marcus rose to his full height. His posture was no longer that of a returning celebrant; it was that of a commander entering hostile territory.
He walked with heavy, deliberate strides back toward the front portico where the party guests had assembled on the stone steps, champagne flutes in hand, watching with sudden, uneasy murmurs.
At the center of the gathering stood Marcus's arrogant brother-in-law and his cold-hearted stepmother, both wearing designer clothes, their faces draining of color as they saw the boy clutching Marcus's leg.
Marcus stopped at the base of the steps, his chest heaving, veins bulging along his neck and temple.
"WHO DID THIS TO MY SON?!" Marcus roared, his voice detonating across the estate like a mortar strike.