Chapter 5

"That little bastard," Bella snapped as soon as she stepped through the door. "He's gotten real bold."

She tossed her umbrella onto the floor and dropped onto the sofa, her cheeks still tight with anger.

Amara entered with a cup of coffee, stirring it in slow, steady circles.

The other sisters drifted closer, curiosity written across their faces. Even Jason watched with bright, restless eyes, nothing like the shy young man who had first crossed their threshold.

"What happened?" Amara asked.

"What happened?" Bella scoffed. "He's lived under our roof too long. He's gotten used to looking down on people. He picked a fight with the Wyrmwood family in Northspire. He actually challenged Dargan to his face."

Her voice sharpened as the memory surfaced. "And he even called it 'a minor nuisance.' Said he didn't need the Chamberlain family's help. Who does he think he is? Without our name, he would've starved on the street."

Amara's spoon slowed, then stilled.

"Did he agree to come to Jason's official naming banquet in a few days?"

"How could he?" Bella's disgust was unmistakable. "He's an ungrateful stray. After all these years in our house, he can't even do this one small thing."

"Then is he in danger?"

"Of course he is," Bella replied. "I already told the Wyrmwood men to handle it by the book."

Amara's fingers tightened around her cup. By any reasonable standard, someone who no longer belonged to the Chamberlain family could live or die without affecting her. So why did her heartbeat feel off?

Her phone rang. She frowned and answered.

"Miss Amara." The voice on the other end was low and steady. She recognized it at once.

It was Dargan Wyrmwood, the uncrowned king of Silverton's northern underworld. The Chamberlain family had done business with his organization before, but she avoided direct contact whenever possible. He was ruthless, vindictive, and unapologetic about both.

"What is it?" she asked flatly.

"I heard Oscar got kicked out," Dargan said, amusement threading his tone. "He doesn't even use the Chamberlain surname anymore?"

"That's right."

"Good." He chuckled. "Then I can handle him according to the rules. He crippled one of my men."

"Do what you want," Amara said, her voice turning colder. "From now on, his affairs have nothing to do with the Chamberlain family."

She ended the call.

Giana Chamberlain, the seventh sister, bit her lip. She had always been soft, easily swayed. Even the decision to throw Oscar out had been a majority vote she followed, not one she led.

"Amara, you know what kind of person Dargan is. If Ozzy falls into his hands—"

"If he's a man, then he can take responsibility for what he says," Amara cut in.

She set the cup down with a sharp click. "He said he has nothing to do with the Chamberlain family. Do you think we're that shameless, chasing after him?"

Amara turned and strode toward her room. Her words were decisive. Her chest was not.

'Forget him,' she told herself. 'Forget him. He's not a Chamberlain anymore.'

She repeated it twice, as if issuing an order she could force herself to obey, then sat down at her computer.

She was the eldest and the CEO of the Chamberlain Group. Her schedule ran from morning to night without pause, and a video meeting was about to begin.

The call connected, and her irritation deepened.

"Miss Chamberlain," one executive began. "The Azuren Group just announced they're ending cooperation with us."

"Several suppliers also said they want out," another added quickly. "More may follow."

Amara kept her expression steady, even as a dull pressure built behind her eyes.

"Did they give a reason?"

"They said they simply don't want to continue," the executive replied, looking as though he wanted to disappear.

"Ridiculous." Her brows drew together. "Azuren pulls in billions in profit each year. They just 'don't want to'?"

She leaned forward. "And the other companies?"

"The same explanation," he admitted.

The pressure behind her eyes flared. Adults did not walk away from profit on a whim, not in this city and not in this market.

This was a message, and a lazy one at that. Whoever sent it did not think she merited a proper explanation.

"I understand," Amara said, her voice controlled. "I'll handle it."

She ended the call and reached for the financial magazine on her desk out of habit.

The Chamberlain Group was massive. Companies lined up to partner with them. If a few wanted to leave, she would replace them.

She opened the magazine, then froze. The issue was outdated, filled with old listings and stale leads. It offered nothing she could use.

Her gaze lifted. "Polly? Why is this on my desk?"

The flustered housekeeper hurried in. Everything in the villa passed through her hands.

"I'm sorry, Miss Amara," Polly said quickly. "Mr. Oscar used to place books and magazines on your desk. This one looked similar, so I…"

"Oscar put them here?" Amara asked. Her voice came out thinner than she intended.

"Yes." Polly twisted her hands. "He always did. I didn't even finish middle school, Miss Amara. I don't understand those things."

Amara's head throbbed. Managing a family this large drained her. She had developed insomnia years ago, and when it flared, the warning always came first: pain behind her eyes, as if something scraped along the inside of her skull.

For years, whenever she faced a major decision and hesitated, the magazine on her desk seemed to contain exactly what she needed, whether a merger rumor, a policy shift, or a market signal that provided the right nudge at the right moment.

Now she understood that it had never been luck but Oscar all along.

Amara pressed two fingers to her temple. "Polly, my head hurts. Go prepare the medicine."

"Yes!" Polly rushed out.

Moments later, several sisters entered.

"Amara, is it happening again?" Diana Chamberlain, the fourth sister, stepped to her side and touched her forehead. "Oscar used to massage your temples when it hit. Now that he's gone…"

Her voice faded.

"I can do it," Jason said abruptly. "I worked at a massage shop before."

Diana moved aside.

Jason's hands were warm. He pressed gently at Amara's temples and traced small circles with his thumbs.

For the first few seconds, the pressure felt acceptable. Then irritation spiked. His rhythm missed the precise angles she needed. Instead of easing the pain, his touch seemed to drive it deeper.

"Stop," Amara said, rising abruptly.

Jason looked startled, then wounded.

Amara forced patience into her tone. "It's comfortable. It's just not right for me. Go rest."

Jason retreated, glancing back every few steps. As soon as he disappeared, Amara turned to Bella.

"You. Go bring Oscar back. Now."

Bella blinked. "But you just said—"

"You're a police superintendent," Amara cut in. "If violence is about to erupt in your jurisdiction, do you ignore it?"

Bella's shoulders sagged.

"Fine." She hesitated, then added with stubborn resolve, "I can keep him alive. I can't promise he won't suffer."

…

By then, George's shack had vanished behind a wall of black jackets. Men packed the alleyways in tight layers, sealing off every path of escape. Their boots churned the mud into a slick, dark paste.

Dargan pushed to the front. A thick gold chain hung at his neck, and rings crowded his fingers. When he smiled, several gold-capped teeth flashed in the rain.

He surveyed the shattered doorway, the wrecked interior, and the fear huddled within. His gaze settled on Oscar.

"You've got nerve," Dargan called, his voice carrying over the downpour.

He rubbed his chin, savoring the moment. "I've been in Silverton for a long time. You're the first person who ever told me to get on my knees and beg."

He let silence stretch between them.

"So I made a decision." His smile widened. "I'm going to make you pay for it."