He Refused to Feed His Postpartum Wife and Newborn Daughters — Until Her Billionaire Father Answered the Phone

Ethan pushed past Owen, stumbling into the kitchen with his face flushed red with unadulterated fury.

"Get your hands off my wife!" Ethan roared, trying to reassert his dominance. "You are trespassing in my home! I demand you leave this property immediately, or I will press charges!"

Beverly rushed to her son's side, clutching her pearl necklace. "You thugs! How dare you break our door! Do you have any idea who my son is?! He is a prominent businessman!"

Arthur slowly turned around. He looked at Ethan’s dark suit, and then at the scattered grocery bags on the marble countertops. The silence in the kitchen was absolute, thick, and suffocating.

"You bought a separate refrigerator," Arthur stated, his voice a low, lethal rumble that shook the very walls of the room. "You intended to eat in front of my daughter, while she heals from childbirth, and watch her starve because she gave you granddaughters."

"It's my money!" Ethan spat arrogantly, though his hands were trembling. "She is a disrespectful, useless wife! She needs to learn her place in my house! I pay the mortgage!"

Caleb, standing near the doorway, let out a slow, dark, cinematic laugh.

"Your house?" Caleb asked, stepping into the warm kitchen light, adjusting his expensive watch. "Is that what you really think, Ethan?"

Ethan sneered. "I signed the deed five years ago! My name is on the paperwork! Now get out!"

Arthur didn't yell. The terrifying restraint of his power was infinitely more dangerous. He reached into the inner pocket of his bespoke charcoal suit and pulled out a thick, legally sealed manila envelope.

He tossed it onto the marble island. It landed with a heavy, echoing smack right next to Ethan’s expensive steaks.