Golden Cage Mommy Mutiny (Elyse) novel Chapter 77

landed two sharp slaps across his face.

“You little piece of trash,” he growled. “You not only tried to sideswipe my son’s car, you raised your hand against him. I’ll make sure you regret breathing.”

He flicked his hand toward his men.

The black–clad guards instantly understood, hauling Tessa, Derek, and the others toward the SUVs.

They thrashed and screamed, but there was no escape. Their fate was sealed before the doors even

closed.

When it was done, Vincent turned back to me, his tone suddenly calm, almost courteous.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “If you hadn’t stepped in when you did, my son would’ve taken a lot more damage.”

Facing a man like him made my stomach twist, but I forced a steady smile and shook his hand.

“Please, Mr. Crowe, you don’t owe me anything. I only did what anyone should. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your son better.”

Before Vincent could reply, Julian slipped in eagerly. “Don’t say that, miss. You helped me.”

He looped his arm through mine, then pointed to my wrecked Porsche. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll make Dad replace it for you.”

“My dad’s got a whole fleet–he can give you ten if you want.”

Vincent gave him a light smack on the back of the head. “You little brat…”

Then he looked at me and smiled. “How about this–you come with us. Pick any car you like from my garage. They’re all collecting dust anyway.”

I started to decline, but Julian tugged at my hand. “Please, come home with us. Let Dad make it right–and you can see the estate. It’s huge and full of fun stuff.”

He tugged harder, and I hesitated. But his face was so open, so utterly innocent, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.

Vincent’s voice came from behind, amused. “It’s rare he invites anyone home. You shouldn’t turn

Chapter 6

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him down.”

With both of them waiting, I couldn’t refuse any longer. I got into the car beside Julian.

All the way back, he chatted nonstop, telling me about his horses, the koi pond, the racing simulators in his room–as if we’d known each other for years.

It made sense. With a father like Vincent Crowe, he rarely met anyone his own age; I was probably the first person outside his guards to talk to him like he was normal.

And I had stepped in when he was at his most helpless, so naturally he saw me as someone kind and

safe.

Talking with him, I could feel it clearly–he was gentle, warm, and still full of childlike wonder.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would’ve believed that the son of a man like Vincent Crowe could be so pure–hearted.

When he was in the middle of describing how he’d once trained a foal himself, the car rolled to a

smooth stop.

Julian brightened, squeezing my hand. “We’re here!” he said, pointing ahead. “Mira, look–that’s my home.”

In the distance rose a mansion gleaming white under the afternoon sun, its gardens sprawling like a private park.

Chanter 6