The three kids in the living room froze the instant they heard the angry shouting outside. Phones hit the table, games abandoned, teammates left hanging. They straightened up, sitting ramrod–still, eyes darting back and forth as they listened hard for any hint of what was happening.
Sara silently mouthed, “Are they fighting?”
Roger just nodded, looking serious.
Johns and Marian had been waiting for everyone to get home, but the sudden outburst sent a jolt through the whole house.
Out in the yard, Patricia stopped in her tracks as Oliver’s furious voice cut through the night. She turned, confusion in her eyes as she met his glare.
Oliver tried to keep his cool. “While you’re worrying about Jackson, did it ever occur to you that someone else might be worrying about you just as much?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Patricia shot back, voice tight.
He didn’t let up. “Maybe you didn’t say it, but everything you do makes it pretty clear what you mean.”
“I don’t want us fighting because of Jackson.”
But Oliver was nothing if not stubborn. Growing up with more money and power than he could ever spend, he was used to always being right, always being in control. He hated being challenged. He hated anyone messing up the order in his life. To him, lines between boss and employee were supposed to be sharp and unbreakable.
Patricia, though, she’d never seen things that way.
They just saw the world differently.
To Oliver, Jackson was nothing special–just another staff member. Why would his wife risk her own safety worrying about someone like that?
But to Patricia, Jackson was so much more. He’d stood with her through hell and back, and that wasn’t something she was ever going to forget.
The night air was cold, but Oliver’s stare was even colder. Patricia’s confusion faded, and she looked at him with a new kind of calm. “So you think I care about Jackson too much? That I’ve crossed some line?”
Oliver didn’t answer.
She pressed on. “Well, he’s family to me. He’s earned that.”
“If this bothered you, you should’ve said something a long time ago.”
“I’m the reason he went to prison. The mess he’s in now? That’s on me. Why shouldn’t I care about him? Or do you really think that salary I pay him every year is enough to make someone risk their life for me? Who am I to expect that kind of loyalty–let alone ask for revenge–just for a paycheck?”
“Mr. Padilla, you grew up with everything. In your world, everything’s black and white–power is power,
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Chapter 298
business is business, staff are staff. That’s because your life’s always been easy. You’ve never had to fight just to survive. You have no idea what I mean when I say, if it weren’t for Jackson, I’d already be dead.”
“You’re not wrong, but don’t force your way of thinking on me. I’m not you. I’m just a regular person. I can’t live like you do.”
With that, Patricia turned and walked away, her slender shoulders shaking as she tried to keep herself together.
Now, the huge yard felt completely empty except for Oliver, left standing there alone.
The early winter wind stung his face, snapping him back to reality. He clenched his fists at his sides, chest rising and falling as he tried to get a grip on his emotions.
And then, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He slammed his fist into the car window. Glass exploded, shards slicing into his skin. Blood started dripping down his hand.
Patricia had just turned the corner when the crash echoed through the night. She stopped in her tracks, heart pounding in her chest.
A moment later, Johns’s worried voice rang out, “Sir-!”
Patricia took a shaky breath, forced herself to move, and hurried toward the guesthouse.
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