Chapter 3 - The Shift in Power
Before Colin could process the absolute absurdity of that statement, the patio doors swung open. Beatrice strode in, her heels clicking authoritatively against the marble floor.
"Evelyn, I need the dessert forks—" Beatrice stopped dead. Her authoritative posture crumbled the second she saw her son standing by the kitchen island, holding a birthday cake, his face a mask of quiet fury.
Panic flared in Beatrice's eyes. Her mouth opened and closed before she finally managed to speak. "Colin! You... you weren't supposed to be home until six."
Colin carefully set the pink cake on the only clean corner of the granite countertop. He placed the small silver gift next to it. He didn't yell. He didn't throw anything. The dangerous, quiet drop in his tone was far more terrifying than a shout. He took two deliberate steps toward his mother.
"Whose name is on this house, Mother?" Colin asked coldly.
Beatrice took a step back, her hand flying defensively to her pearls. "Colin, please, you don't understand. I was simply trying to teach her some responsibility—"
"I asked you a question," Colin interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with emotional tension. "Whose name is on the deed to this house?"
"Yours," Beatrice whispered, shrinking under his glare.
"And whose wife is currently washing your guests' dishes like hired help on her birthday?"
May you like
Beatrice fell silent, looking away. Colin turned his back on her, dismissing her entirely. He walked over to Evelyn, gently taking the wet sponge from her trembling hand and tossing it into the sink. He reached around her waist, untying the stained apron and letting it fall to the floor.
"We are going upstairs," Colin said softly to Evelyn, his eyes softening as he looked at her and his sleeping son. "And mother," he added without looking back, "by the time I come back down, I expect you to have cleaned up your own mess. Or you can pack your bags."
