Chapter 4 - THE MORNING AFTER
The sun rose over Turtle Creek, casting long shafts of pale rose and gold across the marble floors of the estate.
I stood on the second-floor balcony, a steaming cup of tea clutched in my hands, wearing an oversized silk robe that one of Dominic’s housekeepers had laid out for me the night before. Down in the courtyard below, Hunter was running along the edge of an emerald-green lawn, chasing an English Mastiff the size of a small pony. A young woman in a tailored nanny's uniform stood nearby, laughing as Hunter tried to teach the massive dog how to sit.
For the first time in his life, my son wasn't checking the room to see if he was taking up too much space. He wasn't watching my face to see if we had enough money for groceries or if Aunt Sierra was going to make a comment about his scuffed shoes.
He was just a boy.
A soft click of the terrace door signaled Dominic’s arrival. He had changed into dark denim and a black henley shirt, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked younger without the charcoal suit, but the dangerous edge in his posture hadn't softened.
He set a fresh pot of coffee on the small wrought-iron table between us and leaned against the balustrade, watching Hunter below.
“He likes Goliath,” Dominic noted, a faint smile touching his mouth. “Dog looks like a killer, but he sleeps on the foot of my bed and runs away from thunderstorms.”
“He’s happy,” I whispered. “He hasn't smiled like that since he won the science fair last spring.”
“He’s going to be happy every day from now on, Kayla. That's not a negotiation.” Dominic took a sip from his mug, his eyes drifting out over the tree line. “The press is camped outside your apartment in Plano. Marcus had your things packed and moved at dawn. Your landlord received six months’ buyout, and your lease is terminated. You don't have to go back there.”
A flare of my old, defensive pride surged up. “Dominic, I’m grateful for what you did last night. You saved Hunter from being humiliated, and you exposed Sierra for what she is. But you can't just buy my life and put it in a box. I spent eight years building my independence. I worked two jobs to pay my rent. I’m not a kept woman.”
Dominic turned toward me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air catch in my throat.
“I don't want a kept woman, Kayla,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I want my family back. I want the girl who sat with me on the hood of my beat-up Chevy when we were seventeen, talking about what the world looked like past the county line. I want the mother of my son.”
Before I could answer, the terrace door opened again. Marcus Vance stepped out, his expression tight, holding an iPad in one hand and a manila folder in the other.
“Excuse me, Mr. Voss. Miss Mitchell.” Marcus offered a crisp nod. “We have a developing situation in Collin County.”
Dominic’s demeanor shifted back to iron in an instant. “Speak.”
“Nathan and Sierra retained Harlan Cross thirty minutes ago,” Marcus said, handing the tablet to Dominic. “Cross just filed an emergency petition for an ex parte protective order against you, claiming you used intimidation, illegal wiretapping, and corporate coercion to disrupt a private family function and extort the Mitchell estate.”
I spilled a drop of tea onto my robe. “Harlan Cross? That's Gerald’s old fixer. He’s the dirtiest family law attorney in North Texas.”
“He’s effective,” Marcus agreed. “Cross has already called a press conference on the steps of the Collin County Courthouse for ten o'clock this morning. He claims he has sworn affidavits from three country club staff members stating that Dominic entered the premises with armed mercenaries and forced the audiovisual crew to play manipulated deepfake recordings.”
Dominic scrolled through the digital filing with a cold, detached amusement. “Deepfakes. That's the best Harlan can do?”
“There’s more,” Marcus added, his voice dropping slightly. “Sierra has filed a formal report with Child Protective Services alleging that Hunter was removed from his legal residence without parental consent. Because you haven't yet been legally adjudicated as the father on the birth certificate, Dominic, Harlan is arguing that you committed custodial interference.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. “Custodial interference? He’s his father!”
“On paper, as of this morning, he is a legal stranger to Hunter,” Marcus said gently, looking at me with genuine sympathy. “In the eyes of a Collin County judge who plays golf with Gerald Mitchell, you left an event with an unregistered third party and took the child across county lines. If Harlan gets Judge Whitmore to sign that emergency order before noon, Collin County deputies will be dispatched here with a warrant to take Hunter into temporary state custody pending a jurisdictional hearing.”
The world tilted. The beautiful green lawn, the sunshine, the safe fortress—it all threatened to evaporate in an instant.
“They want to put him in a shelter?” I choked out, my knuckles turning white against the porcelain mug. “To get back at us? To save their inheritance?”
Dominic didn't panic. He set his coffee cup down on the table, pulled his phone from his back pocket, and dialed a ten-digit number from memory.
“Get the chopper on the pad at Love Field,” Dominic said into the receiver before the other line could even finish ringing. “Call the presiding judge of the Fifth Court of Appeals in Dallas. Tell him Dominic Voss is invoking the judicial review clause under the Texas Interstate Commerce and Corporate Retaliation Act. And Marcus?”
Marcus stepped forward. “Sir?”
May you like
“Release the bank statements from the offshore account in Grand Cayman,” Dominic said, his voice flat, chilling, and lethal. “Let’s show Collin County exactly where Sierra Mitchell got the money to buy Judge Whitmore’s country club bond.”
---
