Chapter 2 - THE LOCK ON THE GLASS
By ten-thirty that evening, the final investor’s Mercedes had driven down the gravel driveway, its red taillights disappearing into the thick pine forest.
The heavy, soundproof oak front door of the retreat clicked shut.
The moment the lock engaged, the fake warmth in the house evaporated instantly.
Brenna stood near the fireplace, sipping a hot tea, watching coldly as Diego turned around. His face had completely changed. The charming, sophisticated entrepreneur was gone, replaced by a man whose eyes were dark with unhinged, violent frustration.
He loosened his silk tie, ripping it from his collar, and threw it onto the marble floor.
"Get up," Diego said, walking toward the dining room.
Vivian was still sitting at the table, her body exhausted, her feet swollen, her abdomen aching from the stress of the evening. She pushed herself up from the chair with great difficulty, holding onto the mahogany table for balance.
"Diego, I am seven months pregnant," Vivian said, her voice trembling slightly. "I am not going to sign away my father's equity without a legal review. You know those shares represent his legacy."
"Your father's legacy?!" Diego shouted, his voice echoing off the high glass walls. He stepped forward, grabbing her upper arm in a tight, iron grip. "Your father treats me like a glorified employee! He looks down on me every time I enter his house! Those shares belong to this family—my family!"
"Let go of me!" Vivian tried to pull her arm back, but Diego’s grip was unyielding.
"You humiliated me in my own home," Diego hissed, leaning in close, his hot breath brushing against her cheek. "In front of Harrison. In front of the men who are funding my expansion. You made me look like a man who can't control his own wife."
"A wife is not something you control, Diego!" Vivian cried out, tears of anger rising in her eyes. "I protected what belongs to me!"
Brenna set her teacup down on the mantlepiece with a dull thud. "Diego, don't waste your breath arguing with her. She’s spoiled. Alvin Sterling raised her to believe she’s above consequence. She needs to understand who runs this household."
Diego stared into Vivian’s eyes. A cold, cruel realization seemed to settle over his expression—a realization that he held total physical dominance over her in this isolated mountain home, miles away from her father, miles away from help.
"If you truly want to remain my wife," Diego said quietly, tightening his grip around her arm until her bone throbbed with pain, "you’re going to learn to obey me. Pregnant or not."
He dragged her toward the rear hallway.
"Diego! What are you doing?! Stop!" Vivian screamed, trying to plant her feet against the polished hardwood floor, but her physical strength was no match for his.
He pulled her past the kitchen, down the short corridor that led to the heavy glass slider facing the outdoor pool terrace.
"Diego, it’s freezing outside!" Vivian begged, terror finally breaking through her composure. "Please! Think about the baby!"
"You should have thought about the baby before you decided to play corporate games at my dinner table," Diego replied coldly.
He threw the heavy glass slider open.
A blast of howling, sub-zero mountain wind rushed into the hallway, smelling of pine, ice, and impending snow. The temperature outside had dropped to twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit. A thick, glittering sheet of white frost had already settled over the stone terrace lawn and the outdoor furniture.
Diego shoved Vivian out onto the stone patio.
Her bare feet—she had taken her shoes off earlier—struck the ice-cold flagstones.
"Diego, please!" Vivian cried, turning around, her hand reaching for the doorframe.
Diego stepped back inside, grabbed the heavy handle of the glass door, and slid it shut.
CLICK.
The double-deadbolt lock engaged from the inside.
Vivian slammed her hands against the heavy glass. "Diego! Open the door! It’s twenty-six degrees out here! Let me inside!"
Through the clear glass, Diego stood in the warm, lit hallway, his arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, Brenna walked up, offering her son a calm, approving nod before turning her back and walking toward the grand staircase.
Diego looked at Vivian through the glass, his face completely devoid of mercy.
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"When you’re ready to sign the papers, knock on the glass," Diego said, his voice muffled by the thick, soundproof double-pane glazing.
He turned off the hallway lights, plunging the interior of the house behind her into pitch darkness, and walked away.
