When She Strikes Back

Chapter 5: Father and Son

The air in the foyer was thick with the scent of ozone and the bitter stench of Fina’s panic. George Sterling stood like a statue of judgment, his eyes darting from the mountain of luxury boxes to his wife’s raised hand, and finally to me—shivering on the cold marble in nothing but silk and bruises.

"George! Thank God you're home!" Fina’s voice shifted instantly, morphing from a harpy’s screech to a trembling wail. She dropped her hand and clutched her pearls, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. "This girl... she’s gone mad! She spent the night out with some stranger and came back flaunting these disgusting marks on her neck! When I tried to counsel her on the Sterling reputation, she attacked me! I was only trying to protect our family’s honor, George!"

George looked at her, his brow furrowed, then turned his gaze to me.

"Is this true, Cassandra?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Did you lay a hand on my wife?"

​I didn't answer right away. I let out a jagged, broken breath and slowly stood up, letting the silk nightdress slip just enough to reveal the darkest of the hickeys on my collarbone—and the flaming red mark of Fina's slap on my face.

​"I didn't attack her, Father," I said, my voice steady but brittle, looking him straight in the eye. "I was signing for my packages when Mother decided that my presence in this foyer was an insult to her. She called me a w***e, she called me trash, and then she struck me. If 'attacking' her means I caught her wrist to stop her from hitting me a second time... then yes, I am guilty of defending myself."

​I took a step toward him, letting the light catch the bruise on my cheek. "As for these marks on my neck? They are a symptom of a broken marriage, not a lack of honor. But I suppose Mother finds it easier to beat me than to admit her son has been neglecting his wife for years."

George’s eyes widened. He looked at Fina, whose face was turning a mottled purple. "She caught your wrist? That’s the 'attack' you spoke of, Fina?"

​"She—she was disrespectful, George! She’s flaunting her filth!" Fina shrieked.

"Enough!" Jonas barked, stepping down the stairs. He saw the way George was looking at me—a mixture of pity and growing suspicion toward Fina. Jonas knew his father’s temper. If George believed Fina was destabilizing the household, the consequences would be dire for all of them.

"Father, everyone is just emotional," Jonas said, his voice smooth as oil as he stepped over to me.

Jonas reached out, snaking a heavy arm around my waist and pulling me flush against his side with a grip that was meant to crush my ribs into silence. "Cassandra is clearly unwell and speaking out of turn. Mother was just... protective. I’ll take my wife to our room and handle this privately. We don't need the staff witnessing this."

Jonas dragged me toward our bedroom, his grip bruising my skin. The moment the door slammed, he threw me onto the bed and locked the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jonas hissed, pinning me down. His eyes were dark, a mix of fury and that pathetic, hungry lust I had ignited. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Cassandra. My father isn't a fool."

​"And yet, he's married to Fina," I retorted, tilting my head back with a cold, sharp laugh. "Why did you pull me away downstairs, Jonas? Afraid I’d tell him how you bring different women to our bedroom the second his plane leaves? Afraid I'd tell him you've turned his home into a motel?"

​Jonas’s gaze dropped to my lips, but the lust in his eyes was momentarily eclipsed by a flicker of genuine panic. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me, his breathing heavy and ragged.

​"You don't know what you're talking about," he hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "You think my father would believe a word from a woman who comes home looking like that? You want to talk about different women? Look at yourself, Cassandra."

​He reached out, his fingers gripping my chin roughly, forcing my head up to the light. "Why did you leave me standing there last night? You teased me, you made me want you, and then you walked away like I was nothing after crawling into someone else's bed. Who did this to your neck? Tell me his name. I’ll kill the bastard for touching what belongs to me."

​I didn't flinch. I reached out, my fingers dancing over the marks he hated so much, a slow smirk spreading across my face. "Maybe I wanted to see if you’d finally fight for me. Or maybe... I just found someone who doesn't make it feel like a 'chore' to touch me. Someone who actually knows how to treat a lady, unlike the trash you bring into our bed."

​The insult to his manhood was the final straw. Jonas let out a guttural growl and lunged. He shoved his face into my neck, his hands roaming over my curves with a messy, frantic desperation. He wasn't making love; he was trying to reclaim property that he realized was sliding through his fingers.

​I felt sick, the phantom image of him with other woman flashing in my mind, but I forced myself to stay still. I let him hold me, let him believe his touch still had power over me. I let him believe he was winning—right up until I heard the knock at the door.

"Mr. Jonas? The Master has called for everyone to gather in the dining room for breakfast. Immediately." It was the head butler.

I smirked as Jonas froze. He was strained, his face flushed with unspent desire. I felt his hardness against my thigh, and my smirk deepened. "Actually," I whispered, pushing him off, "Father is waiting. And I'm quite hungry. Let's do this some other time."

I adjusted my silk nightdress and walked out, leaving him gasping for air.

The breakfast table was a battlefield of silence. George sat at the head, Fina at the other end looking like she’d been sucking on lemons, and Jonas beside me.

"I’ve been reviewing the quarterly projections for the Westshore Development project," George said, his voice stern. "Jonas, you suggested we divest from the logistics side and focus entirely on the luxury builds. I’m inclined to agree. It’s the faster profit."

I froze. I remembered this. In my past life, this choice had led to a $200 million loss when the supply chain collapsed three months later. It was the beginning of the Sterlings’ financial ruin.

"Actually, Father," I said softly, setting my tea down. The table went silent. Fina looked like she wanted to throw her fork at me.

"And what would a girl whose only talent is being a 'maid' know about business?" Fina sneered. "Eat your toast and be silent, Cassandra."

George held up a hand, silencing his wife. He looked at me with genuine curiosity. "Go on, Cassandra. Why do you disagree?"

"The luxury market is a bubble," I said, my voice steady and wise. "But the logistics infrastructure in the Westshore region is the backbone. If we divest now, we lose control over our own supply lines. If a fuel crisis hits—which the trade journals are already hinting at—we’ll be held hostage by third-party carriers. We shouldn't sell. We should double down. Own the road, and you own the builders."

Jonas laughed, a condescending sound. "That’s a huge risk, Cassandra. You’re talking out of your league. Stick to the shopping bags."

"I’m talking about million in potential losses, Jonas," I countered, locking eyes with George. "Luxury is a whim. Logistics is a necessity. A wise man builds the road before he builds the castle."

George leaned back, a look of profound realization dawning on his face. He stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. "I hadn't considered the third-party risk. You’ve been reading the trade journals?"

"I like to stay informed," I said with a humble smile. "I wouldn't want to be a 'burden' to your legacy, Father."

Fina turned purple. "She's just repeating things she heard! She’s trying to embarrass my son!"

"Be quiet, Fina," George snapped. He turned back to me, his gaze softening. "That was... remarkably insightful, Cassandra. Jonas, take note. This is the kind of foresight you lack."

As the meal ended, Jonas and Fina stood to leave, but I lingered. I walked over to George, who was rubbing his temples, looking exhausted from his trip.

I reached out, my hand small and soft as I placed it over his. I felt him go still, his breath hitching. I leaned in, my voice a soothing, intimate whisper that only he could hear.

"Don't overwork yourself, Father," I said, my thumb grazing the back of his hand in a slow, hypnotic circle. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and full of a strange, sweet heat. "A man as brilliant and powerful as you shouldn't have to carry the weight of this family alone. It makes my heart ache to see you so tired."

I gave his hand a gentle squeeze and smiled—a slow, lingering look that was far too tender, far too seductive for a daughter-in-law.

"You... you’re a good girl, Cassandra," George stammered, his eyes locking onto mine, his pupils dilating.

"I just want to be the one you can rely on," I whispered, before turning to follow Jonas, leaving George staring at his hand as if it had been burned by fire.