Chapter 7 Who Dares Touch My Wife and Daughter

The rapid slaps not only wiped the arrogance clean off Tommy's face but also left everyone else stunned as well. Was this really the same James who used to be so meek and spineless?

"James, you've gone too far! A few years in the military, and now you come back acting like this? Apologize to Tommy right now, then slap yourself."

Josephine suddenly spoke up. James snapped his head toward her and said in a cold, flat voice:

"I'll let you say that again. Go ahead, Mom."

"You..."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The truth was, James's presence and the look in his eyes at that moment were absolutely terrifying. Those eyes burned like hellfire.

The only one who felt any joy was Sophia. Every woman wants a man who will protect her, and she was no different.

At that moment, Tommy, both cheeks swollen red, saw James raise his right hand again and immediately dropped to his knees, begging for mercy. He mumbled to Sophia:

"I'm sorry, Sophia."

"James!"

A sharp cry cut through the air out of nowhere. Everyone turned to look. A blonde woman in a Chanel suit, who had just managed to calm Ronan down, was pointing her finger and glaring daggers at James.

This was Katherine, John's daughter-in-law — a sharp-tongued, fierce woman, and Ronan's mother.

"How dare you scream at Ronan like that!"

As far as Katherine was concerned, Tommy getting beaten black and blue had nothing to do with her. Within the Wilson family, it wasn't just the elders who competed behind closed doors — the younger generation kept up a polite front too, while secretly despising each other.

So Tommy's condition meant nothing to her. Not compared to her son's tears.

"And where were you when your son was bullying my daughter Stella?"

James had barely finished speaking before Katherine let out a contemptuous laugh, looking at him with that classic upper-class sneer:

"Your daughter, compared to my son? She's not even worth one hair on his head. My son was doing Stella a favor by playing with her at all. James, apologize to my son right now. Otherwise, when my husband and father-in-law get here, you'll be in serious trouble."

Those words sent Robert and Josephine into a panic.

"You hear that, James? Apologize to Ronan and Tommy right now. If Father comes and sees this, our whole family is finished."

Even Sophia, in that moment, felt the full weight of how serious things had become. Ronan was the great-grandson their grandfather doted on most. He would be furious.

"James..."

She had barely started when James raised his right hand.

"Sophia, everything I ever promised you, I will make happen. You and Stella — not these shameless excuses for family, not God himself — no one will lay a finger on either of you."

"Bold words."

The voice came without warning. The door to the private room swung open, and Dean Wilson, the head of the Wilson family, walked in with several people behind him. Those words were his.

Beside him was John Wilson, who spotted Tommy kneeling on the floor with blood at the corner of his mouth and rushed over.

"Tommy, what happened to you? Who did this?"

"James did it. He hit him, and he screamed at Ronan and made him cry. You saw how out of control he was just now!"

Katherine's words sent John into a rage. He swung his hand at James.

His arm had barely moved before John went flying — James kicked him clean across the room, and he slammed hard into the wall.

"Since none of you want to be reasonable, I won't waste any more words. Every bit of suffering my wife and daughter have endured at your hands — starting today, I'm going to take it all back, piece by piece."

Then James turned to Sophia, his voice gentle:

"Let's go home, sweetheart."

"Going somewhere? James, if you think you're turning things around, let's see if you've actually got what it takes. Today I'm breaking both your legs, and after that you'll stay home and know your place."

Dean was seething. As he spoke, two bodyguards in black suits stepped forward. Their solid builds and thick-knuckled hands made it clear they were both ex-military.

Sophia quickly stepped in front of James, her voice urgent:

"Grandfather! James just got back from the military. He lost his head for a moment when he saw Stella and me being mistreated. Please, Grandfather..."

"You and Stella don't deserve to be mistreated?"

Dean's words stopped Sophia cold.

"The moment you defied my orders and chose to marry James — a castoff adopted son thrown out of the Rockefeller family — you ceased to exist as my granddaughter."

By now, John had picked himself up and stood beside Dean with Tommy. With Dean stepping in, they didn't need to say anything more.

Katherine stood to the side with her arms crossed, ready to enjoy the show. So he came back from the military with a bit of muscle — did that mean he'd forgotten who he was?

Dean was just about to wave his bodyguards forward to break James's legs when a voice rang out:

"The Rockefeller family sends their congratulations!"

The Rockefeller family?

Everyone in the room froze. The Rockefellers were true old money — one of the most powerful dynasties in Novaria. And because of James, the adopted son who had been thrown out, they knew the Rockefeller name better than most.

Why would a family like that be here? It made no sense.

Even John was stunned — and quietly excited. Had the Rockefellers sent a gift specifically for Jack's baptism? That seemed unlikely, but still.

As for James, everyone had already put him out of their minds. He was an adopted son who had been kicked out of the family. There was absolutely no way the two things were connected.

Everett, whom James had crossed paths with in the underground parking garage earlier, appeared holding a gold-embossed gift list and was about to read it aloud when James spoke up.

"Mr. Stevens, leave. Now. Don't use up whatever goodwill I have left for you."

Everett sighed. James had never forgiven the Rockefeller family — not for his adoptive father's death, not for being thrown out, not for everything he had endured over the years. That much was clear.

"James! Nobody asked you to speak. Don't flatter yourself. The Rockefeller family is here to congratulate someone — you think it's for you? A worthless castoff of an adopted son? Pathetic."

A sharp voice cut in. Michael Wilson, John's son, had arrived. He had been in the elders' room attending the baptism for Jack, the guest of honor, and had only just made his way over — he hadn't expected to find that James was back.

"Michael, what do you mean..."

Dean looked at his grandson, puzzled. The boy seemed so sure of himself. Could it be that...

"Grandfather, that's right. A few days ago, I had the honor of having lunch with the third son of the Rockefeller family. I happened to mention that I was holding a baptism for my son today, and apparently he took it to heart — he even sent a gift."

Smiles spread across the faces of the Wilson family. The Rockefellers sending a gift to a baptism — word of that getting out would raise the Wilson family's standing in Luminous City considerably.

"Tommy, the staff already filled me in. I'll settle your score in a minute. Let me greet the Rockefeller representative first."

Michael spoke with easy confidence, which sent Katherine rushing over with Ronan in her arms to get in his good graces.

"Michael, you've been quietly building connections like this — you actually know a Mr. Rockefeller. Impressive."

Even John had forgotten about James's kick. He laughed heartily:

"Ha! That's my son for you. There's no way this family isn't going places now."

The contrast with Robert and Josephine couldn't have been sharper. Josephine's face had gone ugly. She shot James a look and hissed under her breath:

"You see that? The Rockefeller family should have been yours. And now look. Embarrassing. Go ahead, keep hitting people — do you really think violence solves everything in this world?"

James said nothing. He picked Stella up in his arms. She had stopped crying.

"Stella, I'm taking you home."

"Okay."

She curled tightly into James's arms, as if that was the only place she felt safe.

As he turned to leave, Michael was walking toward Everett amid a chorus of flattery, eyeing the row of suited men behind him, each carrying a black Louis Vuitton briefcase. Michael put on what he imagined was an elegant smile:

"Mr. Stevens, Mr. Rockefeller sent you, I take it? You've all had a long journey — tonight, everything is on me. Please, stay for the banquet."

Everett had stayed quiet partly because he was stunned by how low James's standing was within the Wilson family. Now, hearing this, the old butler who had served three generations of the Rockefeller family let out a cold snort and spoke in that icy, aristocratic tone of his:

"And just who do you think you are? I am here under orders from the current head of the Rockefeller family, to deliver a gift to James Rockefeller in honor of his return from military service. What does any of this have to do with you?"