Chapter 5 - Breakfast at the Big House
At 7:30 AM, the sun broke through the heavy New England cloud cover, casting a pale, washed-light across the manicured lawns of the Mercer estate.
Inside the main dining hall, the table was set for four with Limoges porcelain, silver cutlery, and crystal carafes of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Brooke sat at the head of the table, dressed in a Chanel houndstooth jacket and cream trousers, sipping black coffee. Her composure had returned tenfold. By dawn, she and Julian had managed to purge the local cache logs from the study terminal using a remote script. As far as Dominic knew, he had simply caught an ambitious fiancée trying to organize an estate contract a little too early in the morning.
Footsteps echoed across the parquet floor.
Natalie entered, holding young Noah’s hand. The nine-year-old boy looked pale, his shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on the floor. He wore his school blazer, but his tie was slightly crooked—a task his mother usually rushed through.
Brooke didn’t look up from her tablet. “You’re late, Natalie. Dominic likes punctuality at breakfast.”
“Dominic isn’t even down yet,” Natalie replied, her voice shaking slightly as she pulled out a chair for her son. “And leave Noah alone. He didn't sleep well.”
“Nobody slept well, darling. That’s what happens when you live in a house you don’t own and refuse to sign basic administrative paperwork.” Brooke tapped her screen, pulling up a digital copy of the trust waiver. “I’ve updated the clause. If you sign before noon today, I’ll personally cover the cost of Noah’s private school tuition for the fall semester. Consider it a wedding gift.”
Noah looked up, his big brown eyes welling with sudden tears. “Mom… do we have to leave the cottage? Uncle Dominic said we could stay forever.”
“Your Uncle Dominic,” a cold voice cut across the room, “says you can stay as long as you breathe.”
Brooke froze, her coffee cup halfway to her lips.
Dominic walked into the dining hall. He had changed into a charcoal three-piece suit, his silk tie knotted with geometric precision. He didn't look at Brooke. Instead, he walked straight over to Noah, pulled out the chair beside the boy, and sat down.
“Morning, champ,” Dominic said softly, ruffled the boy’s dark hair. “Rough night?”
Noah nodded, sniffing. “A lady said we were squatters, Uncle Dom. She said we had to pack our bags by tomorrow.”
The dining hall temperature dropped twenty degrees.
Brooke forced a bright, brittle laugh, setting her cup down with a sharp clink. “Oh, Noah has such an overactive imagination! We were just joking about spring cleaning, weren't we, sweetie? Kids take things so literally.”
Dominic slowly turned his head to look at Brooke. His face was an impenetrable mask of granite.
“Was I joking, Brooke?” Dominic asked.
Brooke’s breath hitched. “What?”
“When you told my sister yesterday evening that she and her son would be off this property by breakfast today—was that a joke as well?”
Natalie stared at Dominic, her mouth slightly open. “She… she said it at five this morning, Dom. Right after you supposedly left for London.”
Brooke stood up so fast her chair screeched against the hardwood. “This is ridiculous! Everyone is conspiring against me. The stress of this wedding is destroying my mental health! Dominic, how can you listen to them over your own future wife?”
Dominic stood up slowly. He towered over the table, his presence filling the grand room with an almost physical weight. He didn't shout. He didn't gesture. He simply walked around the table until he stood directly in front of her.
“Brooke,” Dominic said quietly, his eyes locked onto hers. “My mother’s trust isn’t yours. My estate isn't yours. And my family is certainly not yours to evict.”
“You’re breaking off the wedding?” Brooke’s voice cracked, genuine panic finally breaking through her polished armor. “Over some silly domestic dispute with your sister? After all the invitations went out? After the Governor confirmed attendance?”
“The wedding is still on,” Dominic replied, a terrifying, humorless smirk touching the corner of his lips. “Saturday at St. Jude’s. Big crowd. Global press. Everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Brooke blinked, confused and off-balance. “Then why are you acting like this?”
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“Because,” Dominic said, stepping closer until she could smell the expensive coffee on his breath, “every grand performance needs a proper climax. And trust me, Brooke… you won’t want to miss the ending.”
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