Suddenly the peace of the room was gone. The door slammed open with enough force to rattle the framed portraits on the wall.
William stood abruptly, his cane clattering to the floor.
"Now you have the guts to show up here?" His voice shook with barely contained fury.
Oliver stood in the doorway, his expression the perfect picture of remorse. His left arm hung in a sling, his usually immaculate hair slightly disheveled— the very image of a worried husband.
"Grandpa, please don’t get angry," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "I came as soon as I could. See my arm is even broken."
Emma stiffened, her fingers curling into the bedsheets as Oliver approached. His polished Oxfords clicked against the hardwood, each step measured, deliberate. He sold me to those thug
