Chapter 176
[ 471 words ]
Chapter 176:
The vase shattered into a thousand pieces with a deafening, explosive crash.
The silver-haired estate butler and six uniformed maids stood pressed against the far wall. They flinched, their shoulders trembling, absolutely terrified to make a single sound.
“It has been twenty-four hours!” Beatrice screamed, her voice cracking with hysterical rage. She pointed a shaking finger at the butler. “My Doodles is gone! You useless idiots let someone cross the perimeter fence and steal my baby!”
The heavy, carved wooden double doors of the sunroom suddenly swung open.
Sterling Hendon, Beatrice’s older brother, walked into the room. He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit. His face was a mask of cold, aristocratic irritation. He stepped over the shattered porcelain, his leather shoes crunching on the debris.
𝗤𝗎𝘢𝗹𝗂𝘁y 𝗍ra𝗇𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘁𝗂𝗼𝗇ѕ o𝘯 𝘨𝘢l𝗇o𝘷𝗲𝗹𝘀.𝗰𝗼𝗺
“Stop destroying the house, Beatrice,” Sterling snapped, his voice sharp like a whip.
Beatrice spun around, tears streaming down her face. “They took him, Sterling! They took my dog!”
Sterling let out a heavy sigh. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“I am handling it,” Sterling said coldly. “I am activating the family’s network. A fifty-thousand-dollar bounty will be issued first thing in the morning. The alert will be sent to every veterinary clinic, animal shelter, and black-market broker in the D.C. metro area.”
Beatrice’s hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her chest heaved.
“When I find the trash who took him,” Beatrice hissed, her voice dropping into a venomous, hateful whisper, “I am going to have our lawyers bury them. I want them rotting in a federal prison cell.”
Miles away, in the dead silence of Jarrod’s downtown penthouse, the morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Caroline sat on the thick rug in the guest bedroom. She was wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt. In her hand, she held a small metal bowl filled with premium, grain-free canned dog food.
She pushed the bowl closer to the dog resting on the towels.
The black Cavapoo sniffed the food once. It immediately turned its head away, letting out a soft, dismissive huff through its nose.
Caroline let out a frustrated sigh. She set the bowl down. “That is the third brand you have rejected. You have to eat to take your antibiotics.”
K. C. Bell stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his tactical vest. He watched the scene with absolute, stoic disapproval.
“The animal is spoiled, ma’am,” Bell stated flatly. “With respect, its refusal to eat might be stress-related. A restricted diet for a short period is a standard conditioning technique. However, I will defer to your medical judgment.”
Caroline shot Bell a lethal glare over her shoulder.
“It just had major vascular surgery,” Caroline snapped. “I am not going to starve a trauma patient.”
She stood up and walked out of the bedroom. She marched down the hall and into the massive, open-concept kitchen. The space was equipped with Michelin-star appliances that Jarrod never used.
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