Chapter 5 - The Master’s Inspection
Mrs. Gable materialized out of nowhere, pushing past Lorenzo’s bodyguards, her face flushed with orchestrated outrage.
"Out! Get out right now, you insolent girl!" Mrs. Gable screamed at Nora, grabbing Nora’s upper arm violently and yanked her to her feet. Nora gasped as a sharp pain shot through her stomach, her knees nearly giving out.
"Mr. Moretti, I am so deeply sorry!" Mrs. Gable gushed, turning to Lorenzo with a theatrical curtsy. "I told this lazy girl to stay away from your father! She constantly sneaks up here, bothering the poor man, stealing food from your private kitchen to feed her own appetite, and cluttering his room with cheap blankets!"
Lorenzo didn't answer immediately. He took two slow, measured steps into the room. The air grew suffocatingly heavy. His bodyguards stood silently by the door, their hands tucked inside their jackets.
Lorenzo’s gray eyes fixed on Nora. He saw her pale skin, her trembling lips, and the way her hand instinctively covered her six-month pregnant stomach. He also saw Mrs. Gable’s fingers digging brutally into the girl's skin.
"Release her," Lorenzo said quietly.
Mrs. Gable blinked, startled. "Sir?"
"I said, release her arm."
Mrs. Gable instantly let go as if burned. Nora stumbled back a step, catching her balance against the edge of the fireplace mantle, breathing heavily.
Lorenzo walked past both women and stopped directly in front of his father’s wheelchair. He looked down at the old man.
For five years, Lorenzo had visited his father every few months in this mountain sanctuary, believing the top-tier medical staff and high-paid housekeepers were providing world-class care. To Lorenzo, his father was a tragic, silent monument of the past—a king who had fallen.
"Father," Lorenzo muttered, his harsh voice softening by a fraction. He reached out to lay a hand on Giovanni’s shoulder.
Before Lorenzo’s hand could touch him, Giovanni did something that shocked everyone in the room.
The old man, who had not moved a muscle voluntarily in half a decade, forced his head to turn. His rigid, silver-haired head snapped sideways, dodging Lorenzo’s touch entirely.
Lorenzo froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. His brow furrowed in confusion and sudden alert. "Father?"
Giovanni’s dark eyes locked onto Lorenzo’s. Slowly, deliberately, the old man shifted his gaze toward Nora, who was standing terrified near the wall. Then, Giovanni’s eyes moved to Mrs. Gable, filled with a look of such utter hatred and disgust that Lorenzo felt a chill run down his spine.
Giovanni’s right hand, resting on the chair's armrest, began to tremble violently. With unimaginable effort, fighting against five years of paralyzed nerve pathways, Giovanni raised his pointer finger.
He didn't point at his son. He didn't point at the exit.
He pointed his trembling finger directly at Mrs. Gable, then shifted it to point at Nora’s bruised neck, and finally, he pressed his weak, trembling hand against his own chest, letting out a harsh, suffocating gasp:
"N... N-Nora..."
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The room went dead silent.
Mrs. Gable’s face turned the color of chalk. Lorenzo stood frozen, his eyes wide, staring at the father who hadn't spoken a single syllable since the night of his stroke.
