My mother sneered, “Scrub harder, parasite,” forcing my heavily pregnant wife to wash her feet while a doctor held a syringe. Instead of fighting my filming brother, I quietly carried my wife out of the mansion. They laughed and called me a coward, completely unaware that in just 15 hours…

echoed like a gunshot in the cavernous room, “and I will break every finger on your hand.”

Dr. Vance froze, the syringe hovering inches from Emily’s bruised skin. Liam fumbled his phone, nearly dropping it on the marble.

Eleanor turned slowly. Her posture remained impeccably straight, her face a mask of practiced composure. “David. You’re home.”

I didn’t continue reading …