Chapter 03

Malum’s POV

The shower steamed the bathroom mirror, washing away the sweat of my morning with Cassandra. She was still sprawled across my bed when I returned, naked and smug, as though her presence meant something beyond convenience.

“Get up,” I said fastening my cufflinks. “We’re due at the office.”

Her eyes widened at my tone. She scrambled for the bathroom, and I allowed myself a thin smile. Cassandra was useful enough in the dark, but the daylight reminded me that she was just an employee who confused her body for leverage.

I went to the dining room expecting the one thing I demanded daily: a hot breakfast prepared by my wife. But the table was bare.

The air in my chest hardened. Ten years, and Freya still hadn't learned. The only reason she carried the Sutton name was to serve. Not charm. Not beauty. Not brilliance. Service. And she couldn't even manage that.

I stormed through the halls, checked her room. Empty.

The door clicked open behind me, and Finn’s little feet came pattering across the marble. “Daddy!” he shouted, rushing to wrap himself around my leg. His small hands clung, his face alight. I didn't return the embrace. My eyes locked on Freya as she followed him in, her expression unreadable.

“Where have you been?” I snapped. “And why isn't my breakfast on the table?”

She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, my mother limped into the room, leaning on her cane. A bandage cricked her ankle.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” Mother said, her eyes flickering towards Freya. “I sprained it. I asked her to come see me.”

I narrowed my gaze at my wife. “And that excused neglecting your duty here?”

Mother’s lips thinned, her voice sharpened. “Don’t defend her, Malum. Ten years under this roof, and what had she given? A child. That’s all. Your grandfather’s demand stipulation forced you into this farce. If not for the inheritance clause, Odessa could have found someone worthy. Instead, you’re shackled to an orphan with no refinement.”

Freya’s eyes glistened, but she said nothing. She never did.

Cassandra appeared, dressed now in a fitted skirt, the kind of woman who looked like she belonged at a man’s side. My mother’s approving glance confirmed the thought.

“Make us something to eat,” I ordered Freya.

She obeyed, retreating to the kitchen. When she returned, she carried a plate in one hand and Finn clutched in the other. Before she could set it down, Cassandra let her glass clatter deliberately to the floor, spilling liquid across the tiles.

Freya knelt, reaching for a cloth, but I cut her off. “Leave the food. Clean it up.”

“But Finn—”

“Are you disobeying me?” My voice cracked like a whip. “Clean first. The boy can wait.”

Her face crumpled as she set the plate aside, guiding Finn to a chair. She sank to her knees, scrubbing the floor while Cassandra smirked and Mother looked on with grim satisfaction. Watching Freya stoop reminded me why I tolerated her—she needed the Sutton name, and I needed someone to bear the cost of it.

When the table was finally cleared, Cassandra and I left for the office. The shift from home to work steadied me; business was where true power lived.

“Check the Harrison responses,” I told her as we stepped into the glass-walled suite of Sutton Windsor Global.

She pulled up the inbox, shaking her head. “They opened one. Ignored the rest.”

My jaw tightened. The Harrisons. That empire of privilege thought they could dismiss me. They’d learn otherwise.

“Keep sending,” I said flatly.

“Malum…” Cassandra’s hand brushed my arm. “Everyone knows — without the Harrisons, Sutton Windsor is nothing.”

I turned on her, anger flashing. “Don’t ever say that again. This company exists because of me. No Harrison will ever control my fate.”

She recoiled, murmured an apology, and busied herself with her screen.

But I stared at the unopened emails, a cold truth pressed against my ribs. Without that contract, without the Harrisons, all the power I’d bled for would slip through my fingers.

And I would burn before letting that happen.

When Cassandra left, I stood alone in my office, the silence pressing in. The unopened contracts on my desk stared back at me like accusations. My hand twitched, then swept a glass of whiskey off the table, shattering it against the floor.

I strode to the far wall where a portrait of my late grandfather hung, the patriarch’s eyes stern and unyielding. My reflection stares back in the polished glass—angry, uncertain, too small in the shadow of a man long gone.

“They think I’m nothing without them,” I hissed, my voice low, guttural. My fists pressed against the frame. “Mother. Cassandra. Even that orphan girl.”

My breathing quickened. I straightened, chest heaving, eyes cold with a new resolve.

“They’ll see. They’ll all see. The Harrisons will kneel. And when they do, no one will dare question the name Malum Sutton again.”