Adrian's POV
I punched the wall.
Not on purpose. My fist just... connected. The drywall cracked, a spiderweb of fractures spreading out from my knuckles like lightning. Pain shot up my arm. Good. I needed to feel something other than this crawling, burning rage under my skin.
I stood in the hallway outside the bedroom, breathing hard, staring at the dent I had made. The house was silent. Everyone had finally left or gone to bed. Geneviève had limped off to god knows where after making sure the gates were secure. Edmund had gone to track the Mercedes. The staff had been dismissed hours ago.
It was just me and the cracked drywall and the image of my wife's mother with her hand in my fucking drawer.
Twenty minutes.
She had been in my house for twenty minutes and she'd already tried to steal from us. Not because she needed the money. She pulled up in a Mercedes. She was wearing silk and gold. She didn't need a few hundred dollars in cash.
