Chapter 3 - The Groom’s Awakening
The penthouse suite of the Grand Continental Hotel smelled of expensive champagne, roses, and lingering anxiety.
Javier Robles lay across the king-sized bed, still wearing his custom silk wedding shirt, though his tuxedo jacket had been tossed haphazardly onto an armchair. He stared up at the crystal chandelier, listening to the muffled hum of the city outside.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He snatched it up eagerly, expecting a text from his mother confirming that the deed had been signed, the condo was safely transferred, and the little brat had learned her place.
Instead, the screen lit up with a string of urgent messages from Carmen.
Carmen: She didn't sign. The stubborn little fool fought back. We had to teach her a lesson. Carmen: Javier, why aren't you answering? Call me immediately. Carmen: Where is the phone? Did she leave?
Javier frowned, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. He sat up, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He hadn't wanted things to get violent—not because he cared about Sofia’s well-being, but because messiness was bad for business. He had envisioned a quiet, psychological wearing-down of his new bride over a period of months, culminating in a smooth, voluntary transfer of the property title.
His mother had always lacked subtlety.
Just as he reached for his phone to call her back, a heavy, metallic thud echoed against the private elevator doors leading directly into the suite's foyer.
Javier froze. "Room service doesn't come up this late," he muttered to himself.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, slipping on his velvet loafers, and walked cautiously toward the foyer. The hallway was dim, illuminated only by the ambient glow of the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Before he could reach the door, the heavy oak paneling splintered inward with a deafening crash.
Javier stumbled backward, screaming in terror as four men in matte-black tactical gear—wearing no insignia, moving with terrifying, military-grade synchronization—poured into the suite. Before he could draw a breath, strong hands seized his shoulders, slammed him face-first against the venetian plaster wall, and kicked his legs apart.
"What is this?! Do you know who I am?!" Javier shrieked, his face pressed against the cold wall, a heavy combat boot resting firmly between his shoulder blades. "My father is on the board of the municipal utility commission! You're making a massive mistake!"
"Shut your mouth, Vance," a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the doorway.
A pair of polished combat boots stepped into the foyer. Alexander Brooks walked slowly into the light, rolling up his sleeves. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding granite.
Javier’s eyes widened in horror as he recognized the man—not from any personal meeting, but from old family photographs Carmen had kept locked away in her private desk like a wanted poster.
"Colonel... Colonel Brooks," Javier choked out, the breath expelled from his lungs as the boot on his back pressed harder. "Sir... there's been a misunderstanding. Sofia and I—we just had a little domestic disagreement—"
Alexander didn't answer right away. He walked up to Javier, grabbed him by the collar of his expensive silk shirt, and hoisted him upright with casual, frightening strength.
"A domestic disagreement," Alexander repeated quietly, his voice dangerously low. "Is that what you call forty slaps to a woman's face while you stand outside the door like a coward?"
"I didn't touch her!" Javier sobbed, panic overriding his pride as urine began to seep faintly into his designer trousers. "It was my mother! She did it! I tried to stop her!"
Alexander stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, then let out a short, disgust-filled breath.
"You're a liar, Javier. And worse, you're a coward." Alexander motioned to the lead operative. "Bag him. We're taking him to a more appropriate venue for interrogation."
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"You can't do this!" Javier screamed as a heavy canvas hood was slammed over his head. "This is kidnapping! This is illegal!"
"Illegal?" Alexander murmured as Javier was dragged toward the elevator. "Son, you don't even know what the word means yet. But you're about to get a masterclass."
