Chapter 4 The Confrontation

Maria's POV

I dashed outside barefoot, the sharp gravel biting into my feet as I stumbled onto the front steps. My breath caught in my throat as I watched in horror: a bulldozer was crashing through the ornate wrought iron gates of my villa like they were paper. My heart lurched.

A fleet of black-suited men stormed the property, moving in precision, like shadows with earpieces. My eyes darted to the ground-my succulent garden, the one I'd lovingly built over two years, lay crushed and scattered beneath tank-like wheels.

I didn't know what was happening-but I'd faced chaos before.

Disheveled hair, no shoes, still in silk pajamas-I stood tall on the stone steps, adrenaline overriding panic.

"What the hell is this?!" I screamed, voice cracking. "Who are you people? I'm calling the police!"

This was supposed to be a lawful society. These weren't ancient times where warlords could just take what they wanted. Surely, these thugs couldn't act like they owned the place-

Then he stepped out from behind the bulldozer.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a sharp black suit that did little to hide the fury radiating off him in waves. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, strands falling across his forehead. His dress shirt hung open beneath the suit jacket, wrinkled and half-untucked like he hadn't slept all night.

And maybe he hadn't.

Our eyes met.

My knees nearly buckled.

His expression was icy. Calculated. But behind it, tightly coiled rage burned like wildfire.

He sneered. Cold. Sharp. "Why'd you stop running, Maria?"

I wanted to run. God knows I did. But my legs were jelly. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. My phone, still connected, slipped from my fingers to the ground as my assistant's frantic voice echoed through the speaker:

> "Boss-RUN! The guy you hooked up with in Hawaii-he's the heir to the Clark family. That Clark family in Port City. He found out you had his baby and disappeared. He camped out at your parents' house last night. This morning-he took Emma."

"Boss-if he kills you, who's gonna pay my salary?!"

The Clark family. Of course I knew that name. Who didn't?

The elusive heir who seized control two years ago in a clean but brutal takeover of the business empire-never showed his face online, never gave interviews. Mysterious. Untouchable. Ruthless.

And he was now standing in front of me.

Compared to the warm, indulgent lover I met in Hawaii, the man before me looked like he had been devoured by anger and fed back to the world sharpened and dangerous.

"Uhm... Mr. Clark," I choked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He stepped forward, boots grinding against broken ceramic pots and the crushed remains of my once-beloved plants. He didn't stop until he was right in front of me, looming like a judgment I couldn't escape.

"What a brilliant move," he said, his tone deceptively calm. "Abandoning the father. Keeping the child."

I opened my mouth-but nothing came out.

"Don't," he snapped. "Don't you dare, Maria."

I glanced around. The black-suited guards surrounded the villa like statues. My assistant's warning rang through my head on repeat. And worst of all-

Emma. He'd already taken her.

Of course he had. He was Henry Clark. He didn't bluff.

Still dizzy from last night's wine and the shock of the scene before me, my body gave out. I slid down the doorframe, collapsing to the floor like a broken doll.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Clark," I whispered.

He laughed. But it wasn't a sound of amusement. It was the laugh of a man whose patience had rotted into cold fury.

He crouched down in front of me, tugging his cuff with mechanical precision before gripping my chin and forcing my gaze upward.

"A simple apology isn't enough," he said, his voice razor-sharp. "Not for what you've done."

At that exact moment, a neighbor jogged past, slowing with a concerned glance. In this upscale neighborhood, even bulldozers didn't cause panic-just curiosity. Eyes peeked from behind windows across the street.

I knew what they saw.

A young, beautiful, unmarried woman living alone in a villa... with a child. There had always been whispers. That I was someone's mistress. That my luxury came with strings.

Now? With Henry Clark standing in my yard like an avenging storm, their suspicions had just been confirmed.

In desperation, I clutched at the hem of his pants, tears shimmering in my eyes.

"Mr. Clark... please. I know I was wrong. Completely, terribly wrong. If you want to punish me, fine. But please... can we talk inside?"

If he left now-after causing this spectacle-I would be the one left behind to face the judgmental stares, the tabloid headlines, the shame.

He didn't care about face.

I did.

Henry's gaze followed the curious eyes across the street. He looked back down at me-this mess of a woman at his feet. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"What? Now you're afraid of humiliation?"

I didn't respond. I simply shifted closer, pressing behind him, trying to hide myself from view. From them.

His jaw clenched. He leaned down, lowering his voice to a venomous whisper only I could hear:

> "So you do know what shame feels like."

His hand curled at his side.

> "When you dumped a bank card and vanished... did you ever think how humiliating that was for me?"

He was seething. But not screaming.

He didn't have to.

"This," he said softly, "is what you deserve."

And yet...

Despite everything, despite the fury and humiliation-he didn't walk away.

He reached down.

Not to slap me. Not to shout.

But to pull me to my feet.

And without another word, Henry Clark took me with him.

Not back into my villa.

But into his.