"Sir!" Tiara— Constance Kent's assistant said, as he pushed her door ajar. However, Robert held her down.
Irwin nervously clicked the safety off the gun, his hands steady as he aimed it at Constance. In a long, tense silence, they locked eyes, the metal of the gun still cold and unwavering in his grip, pointed directly at her.
"It's my son," Constance's lips curved into a serene smile as she leaned back in her comfortable office chair, her gaze fixed on Irwin's bloodshot eyes.
"Why did you do it?"
Constance's eyebrows arched, and a wicked smile slowly spread across her face.
"Oh, your wife? Not your warehouse?" she sighed, and in an instant, the vase positioned behind her shattered into pieces with a twinkling sound.
She looked behind her, and back at Irwin, his gaze looked deadlier than usual. "This is your last warning Mother, you touch her again, and I won't miss the next one, is that clear?"
