Little Boy Begging His Billionaire Father to CUT OFF HIS ARM.... But the Nanny Br

Marissa froze. The bronze bookend slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. The mask of the elegant, caring stepmother disintegrated entirely.

"Grant," Marissa stammered, taking a step back. "Grant, listen to me. She—Ruth did this! She broke the cast, she put those things on him—"

"Shut up," Grant said.

His voice wasn't a yell. It was a low, guttural vibration that carried the promise of death. He walked slowly into the room, his eyes never leaving Marissa’s face.

"Grant, I swear!" she cried, backing away until she hit the window frame. "The nanny is insane!"

"I saw the texts, Marissa," Grant said softly, stopping two feet away from her. "I saw your messages with the fake doctor. The trust fund. The power of attorney. The bugs."

Marissa’s face drained of all color. The lie was dead, and she knew it.

Instinctively, she tried to run, darting toward the open door. Grant moved with a speed and violence he didn't know he possessed. He caught her by the throat, slamming her back against the wall so hard the framed photographs rattled on their hooks.

"You tortured my son," Grant whispered, his fingers tightening around her neck. "You put flesh-eating bugs inside his cast and watched me strap him to a bed while he screamed for me."

Marissa clawed desperately at his hands, her face turning red as she gasped for air.

"Mr. Whitmore!" Ruth coughed from the floor, pulling herself up. "Don't! If you kill her, Caleb loses his father to a prison cell. She’s not worth it! Look at your boy!"

The mention of Caleb broke the red haze in Grant’s mind. He looked down. Caleb was curled into a ball, shaking uncontrollably, his eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the adults to hurt him again.