Chapter 3 - The Fortress
We arrived at a sprawling, highly fortified private estate hidden deep within the rolling hills of upstate New York.
Massive iron gates swung open silently, revealing armed guards who bowed their heads respectfully as our vehicle passed.
Inside, the mansion was an absolute fortress perfectly disguised as a luxurious historical chateau.
“You are completely safe here,” Gabriel assured me, leading me into a grand, mahogany-paneled library.
But my cell phone was already vibrating endlessly with dozens of breaking news alerts.
Richard had not wasted a single second spinning his own vicious narrative to the press.
"Mitchell CEO Victim of Pregnant Wife’s Public Hysteria," read one glaring, horrifying headline on a major gossip blog.
He was legally claiming I had suffered a severe prenatal psychotic break and physically attacked him first.
He had already frozen our joint bank accounts, canceled all my credit cards, and filed for emergency sole custody of our unborn child.
He wanted to lock me away in a secure psychiatric facility so he could steal my baby and my hidden trust fund.
Tears of absolute frustration pricked my eyes, but a cold, hard fire quickly burned them away.
I wiped my face, standing up taller, feeling the ancient power of this house seeping into my veins.
An elderly man with piercing gray eyes slowly walked into the room, leaning on a silver-tipped cane.
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“Welcome home, Sarah,” he said, his raspy voice filled with profound emotion.
“I am Arthur Blackstone, your grandfather, and it is time we ruin the man who hurt you.”
