Chapter Ten
958 Words
"Step away from my wife and daughter."
The voice cut through the chaos like a blade—deep, commanding, unmistakable.
Everyone froze.
Max Larson stepped out of the elevator, his presence filling the room in a way that made the air feel heavier. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit that screamed power and money. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on Christy with a look that could've melted steel.
The lobby went silent.
Christy's hand loosened on Sharon's wrist.
One of the receptionists gasped. "Oh my God."
"Touch her again," Max said, his voice lethal, "and you're fired."
Christy's face went white. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I—Mr. Larson—"
Sharon ripped her arm free and bolted toward Max. "Daddy! Daddy, look what the mean lady did to Mommy!"
Max scooped her up in one arm without breaking eye contact with Christy. Then he moved to Gia, his free hand sliding gently under her elbow as he helped her to her feet.
"Are you hurt?" His voice softened, just for her.
Gia shook her head, still staring at him like she couldn't quite believe he was real.
He looked back at Christy. "I'm—I'm so sorry, sir," Christy stammered, her hands shaking. "I didn't know she was telling the truth. I thought she was faking. I know her from high school, and I just—I didn't think—"
"I don't care."
Max's tone was flat. Final.
He glanced over his shoulder at Charles, who'd just stepped off the elevator behind him. "Get them all fired. Every single one of them."
"Right away, sir."
The receptionists erupted into frantic apologies, but Max didn't even look at them. He turned, wrapping an arm around Gia's shoulders and holding Sharon close as he guided them toward the back exit.
Behind them, Christy stood frozen, her face crumbling as the weight of what she'd just done crashed down on her.
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Gia paced back and forth across the living room of Max's penthouse, her arms wrapped around herself.
"You didn't tell me you were the CEO."
Max sat on the couch, perfectly calm, legs crossed, looking every bit the rich bastard he was. "I told you we'd talk when I got home. We just didn't get the chance before this happened. Besides i didn't know how you will feel if you knew about it"
"Before your employees *assaulted* me and my daughter?" Gia's voice cracked.
Max's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Gia. I'm so sorry for the way they treated you."
She stopped pacing, her shoulders sagging. "Christy was my best friend. In high school. We were inseparable."
"I'm sorry," he said again, quieter this time.
Then he stood, gave her one last look, and disappeared into his bedroom to freshen up.
Gia sank onto the couch, her hands covering her face.
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## A Few Days Later
Max's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
"Hello, Mom. Have you landed already?"
"Yes." Lydia Larson's voice was crisp, no-nonsense. "Come pick me up. Not your escorts. You."
"I'll be there in twenty."
He pocketed his phone and headed downstairs, where Gia and Sharon were curled up on the couch, watching cartoons.
"I'm going to pick up my mom," he said from the doorway. "Her plane just landed."
Gia looked up, her expression unreadable. "Okay."
He hesitated, then nodded and left.
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At the private airstrip, a sleek jet gleamed under the afternoon sun.
The door opened, and Lydia Larson descended the stairs with the kind of elegance that came from decades of wealth and power. She was in her late fifties, impeccably dressed, her dark hair styled in a sharp bob. Her heels clicked against the tarmac as she approached her son.
"Max." She air-kissed his cheek. "You look tired."
"Good to see you too, Mom."
She slid into the passenger seat of his car, adjusting her sunglasses. "So. Tell me about this *wife* of yours."
Max's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Here we go.
Lydia Larson was a force of nature—a woman who'd spent her entire life building empires and arranging alliances. She wanted grandchildren, yes. But more than that, she wanted her son married to someone who could elevate the Larson name.
And Gia Haynes, with her past and her struggles, was not what she had in mind.
Max glanced at his mother, his jaw set.
This was going to be a battle.
The hum of the engine was the only sound between them. Max's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his jaw working like he was chewing on words too sharp to swallow.
His mother sat beside him, perfectly still. Waiting.
"Her name is Gia Haynes."
The words came out rougher than he meant them to. He felt his mother's gaze snap to him—precise, surgical. The kind of look that could fillet a man's defenses in seconds.
"What's her status?"
Max's throat tightened. "Status?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Maxwell."
He exhaled slowly through his nose. "She keeps a low profile. Private. But Mom—" He risked a glance at her. "I like her. A lot."
"This isn't about your feelings." Lydia Larson's voice was cold, controlled. "Her background matters. Her family matters. Our reputation—"
"You're going to like her too," Max cut in, forcing confidence he didn't feel.
Lydia said nothing. She turned her gaze back to the road, but Max could practically hear the calculations running through her head. *Who is this girl? Where did she come from? Is she worthy of the Larson name—or is she just another opportunist from the gutter?*
The silence stretched until it felt like a third passenger in the car.
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- Writer
