The interior of the armored luxury sedan was completely quiet.
Outside, the rain smeared across the thick glass windows as Bob drove them down the southern highway, descending the mountain.
The tires made a wet, heavy hum against the asphalt.
Harry sat on the edge of the leather seat.
His hands were clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were stark white.
Every few seconds, his eyes darted to the digital clock on the dashboard, then back to the window.
His breathing was short and shallow.
The pain in his bruised ribs was a dull ache compared to the knot tightening in his stomach.
Andrew sat right next to him, looking suspiciously relaxed.
He had one leg crossed over the other, his fingers tracing the edge of his phone.
He looked like a man on a casual Sunday drive, completely untouched by the urgency suffocating Harry beside him.
“Can you tell him to drive faster?” Harry’s voice cracked.
He didn’t look at Andrew.
He just stared straight ahead at the road.
But Andrew shook his head is disapproval.
“Bob is driving at the maximum safe speed for a vehicle in this weather, Harry,” Andrew said smoothly.
He didn’t even look up from his screen.
“Calm down. Panicking won’t change the distance.”
“Calm down?” Harry turned his head sharply, his silver eyes flashing with anger behind his dark sunglasses.
“You just told me my brother is targeting my daughter and my sister. You told me my father knows. And now you want me to calm down?”
Andrew finally looked up.
A small, amused smile touched his lips.
“Yes. Because right now, your anger is useless. It’s messy. If you walk into that house looking like a rabid dog, they will simply lock the doors and call the district watchers. You need to look like you’ve already won. Like I do.”
Harry let out a bitter, dry breath and turned back to the window.
“I don’t care about looking like a winner, Andrew. I just want my daughter out of that house.”
“And you will get her,” Andrew murmured, his voice dropping into that low, chilling tone.
“Because I am sitting in this car with you. Your family can despise me all they want, but they know exactly what happens to people who cross the Mayfairs. Mhm?. So just play your part my beautiful baby daddy and calm down.”
Harry didn’t reply.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind racing through every worst-case scenario.
He just needed the car to speed up.
“Not beautiful….handsome.” Harry corrected, his eyes still shut with fury and panic.
Andrew simply smiled from that retort and then he looked back on his phone.
******
The car pulled up the long, gravel driveway of the McGuire estate.
The house was massive, built of cold white stone and surrounded by tall iron gates.
It was designed to look holy, clean, and perfect.
But to Harry, it just felt like a tomb.
The moment the car stopped, Harry didn’t wait for Bob to open the door.
He threw it open himself and stepped out into the rain, not caring about the water soaking his clothes.
Andrew followed behind him at a leisurely pace, Bob holding a large black umbrella over his head to keep his uniform dry.
Harry slammed his hand against the heavy oak front doors.
A maid opened it, her eyes widening in fear the moment she recognized him.
Harry pushed past her without a word, stepping into the grand marble foyer.
Right there, standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, was his father.
He was dressed in his formal clerical vestments, looking pristine and untouchable.
But the moment his eyes moved past Harry and landed on Andrew stepping through the door, his face twisted into pure disgust.
The McGuires and the Mayfairs had a deep, insatiable hatred for each other.
A Mayfair was strictly forbidden from ever setting foot in a McGuire home or church.
“Harry,” Gerald said, his voice echoing off the high ceilings like thunder.
“What is the meaning of this? You disgrace this house by returning in such a state, but then you have the audacity to bring this filth with you?”
Gerald pointed a shaking, furious finger at Andrew.
“So you’re even bold enough to bring the devil right to my doorstep, Harry?” the Bishop hissed, his chest heaving with insulted pride.
“Have you completely lost your mind?”
Harry didn’t even flinch.
Instead, he simply walked right up to his father, his voice dead and cold.
“Save the lecture, old man. I don’t give a damn about your doorstep or your pride. Where is Lolleta?”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed.
“You do not speak to me that way in my own home. You were exiled from this family, Harry. You have no right to demand anything here.”
“I said, where is my daughter?!” Harry shouted, stepping directly into his father’s space.
Before Gerald could call for the estate staff, a soft voice called out from the upper balcony.
“Harry? Is that you?”
Harry looked up.
His mother, Lucy, was standing there.
She looked quite frail and exhausted, but cradled tightly in her arms was a small, black-haired girl.
Lolleta, a total photocopy of the Mayfair bloodline infused with the McGuires.
“Mom!” Harry’s voice broke.
He didn’t wait for his father’s permission.
He practically bounded up the marble stairs, his chest burning with pain from his cracked ribs.
When he reached the top, Lucy looked at his face.
Even with the sunglasses on, she could see the heavy bandages on his neck and the swelling along his jawline.
Harry’s visible panic, his ragged breathing, and his desperate stance made Lucy instantly concerned.
Her hands began to tremble.
“Harry, oh my god, what happened to your face?” Lucy whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she reached out to touch his cheek.
“Who did this to you? Why are you shaking like this?…did the Mayfair boy d–…”
“No of course not Mom, it was the other boys but I’m fine. I’m okay, I promise,” Harry lied quickly, his voice frantic as he gently took Lolleta out of her arms.
The little girl blinked sleepily, wrapping her small arms around her father’s neck.
Harry squeezed her tight, closing his eyes for a split second just to feel her heartbeat.
She was finally safe in his arms.
Harry carried Lolleta down the stairs quickly.
When he reached the bottom, he didn’t even hesitate.
He walked straight over to Andrew and shoved the little girl into Andrew’s arms.
Andrew looked slightly surprised for a fraction of a second, his arms automatically catching the child.
Lolleta looked up at Andrew with wide, curious eyes, completely unaware of the danger surrounding her.
“Hold her. Don’t let anyone near her,” Harry commanded Andrew flatly.
Then he turned to one of the terrified maidservants standing near the dining room wall.
The maid glanced at the Bishop, then back at Harry’s terrifying expression.
She turned and sprinted up the stairs to obey.
Harry turned around, his eyes sweeping the grand foyer.
The relief of holding his daughter was immediately replaced by a toxic, burning rage.
“Where is Lloyd?” he demanded, looking at his father.
“Where is that sick bastard?”
Gerald crossed his arms, his expression hardening.
“Your brother is out of the house on church business. Not that it is any of your concern.”
“Out of the house?… Well lucky for him,” Harry spat.
He marched right up to his father, his fists clenched so tightly his nails tore into his palms.
“Let’s talk about what he’s been doing then, Gerald. Let’s talk about what he did to Noelle. Our own little sister.”
Gerald’s face went completely pale for a second, but he quickly forced his stoic, holy mask back on.
“I don’t know what nonsense you are talking about. You are spreading disgusting lies to justify your own failures.”
“Lies?! You know exactly what he did! You helped him cover it up!” Harry roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandelier above them.
“He turned her into his little wife right under your roof, and now he’s eyeing my daughter? You’re a Bishop, but you’re a disgusting monster!”
Gerald’s patience completely shattered.
He raised his hand and struck the heavy brass bell on the side table.
“Enough!” Gerald bellowed.
“I will not tolerate this blasphemy in the house of God! Guards! Come inside immediately!”
Four large, armed estate guards rushed into the foyer from the side doors, their hands resting on their weapons.
“Throw him out,” Gerald ordered, pointing at Harry, then at Andrew.
“Throw both of them out of this house permanently. If they ever step foot on this property again, shoot them on sight.”
The guards hesitated for a second, looking at Andrew Mayfair, but they began to move forward to surround Harry.
Harry didn’t back down.
He stepped toward his father one last time, his voice turning into a terrifying, guttural yell that filled the entire mansion.
“Call your guards, you coward! Drag me out!” Harry screamed, his face contorted in pure, unadulterated rage.
“But hear me loud and clear, Gerald! I am coming back for my sister! I am coming back for Noelle!”
He pointed a shaking finger at the white stone walls, his eyes burning behind his lenses.
“And when I come back for her, I swear to God, I will burn this entire house to the ground! Every single brick! I will leave nothing but ash!”
The entire room fell into a dead, horrifying silence.
The guards stopped moving.
Lucy gasped from the top of the stairs, covering her mouth.
Even the Bishop stepped back, a flicker of genuine fear crossing his eyes.
Everyone in that room believed him.
They knew it wasn’t an empty threat.
They remembered the past.
They knew Harry McGuire meant every single word, and they knew it wouldn’t be the first time he tried to set this family’s world on fire.
Andrew watched the scene unfold from the door, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face as he held the little girl.
The scene was playing out quite beautifully not to muse.
“Let’s go, Harry,” Andrew said quietly, turning toward the rain.
“We have what we came for…—For now.”
Harry took a deep, shaky breath, gave his father one last death glare, and stormed out into the storm, leaving the McGuire family trembling in his wake.