Lucia decides to confront Chase

She hated her mother. Had hated her for years. Hated the lectures, the disappointment, the way Valeria had looked at her like she was broken the night she came out. Hated how every scrap of attention had gone to Diego the second he was born. Hated how easy it had been to walk away and never look back.

But seeing that photo, seeing her mother reduced to some cheap, giggling mall slut hanging off Chase Whitmore, lit something protective and furious in her chest.

That was still her mother.

Her fucked-up, judgmental, cold mother.

But hers.

Lucia looked at Diego again. “What did you do with the pages you tore out?”

He blinked, surprised she’d remembered that detail from his babbling earlier.

“I—I’ve got them here.” He pulled the three crumpled sheets from his hoodie pocket and spread them on the coffee table again. “Two of them are… technical. Something about using sound frequencies and binaural beats to reinforce subconscious suggestions. Really dense. I couldn’t make sense of most of it so I photographed them and sent them to my friend Sheldon. He’s better with that stuff. Said he’d look tonight.”

Lucia nodded once. “And the third?”

“Basics of inducing trance. Eye fixation, breathing patterns, progressive relaxation. I think I get the outline but… I need more time. I need to—”

“Time?” Lucia’s voice cracked like a whip. She slammed her fist down on the table so hard the pages jumped. “We don’t have fucking time, Diego.”

She was already moving, grabbing her keys off the hook by the door, zipping her jacket back up.

Diego scrambled to his feet. “Lucia—wait—you can’t just—”

“I can and I am.” She pointed at the pages without looking back. “You keep working on your nerd shit. Figure out how to undo whatever he did. I’m going to get her.”

“Lucia!”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Just walked out, boots thumping hard on the wooden floor.

The front door slammed behind her.

Outside, she strode to the side of the house where her bike was parked, a matte-black Yamaha MT-07 she’d bought with her first real paycheck after moving out. She swung a leg over and kicked the engine to life.

The motor snarled awake under her.

She pulled her helmet on, visor down and twisted the throttle.

The Whitmore estate was fifteen minutes away according to the map. She rode off.

Behind her, Diego stood in the open doorway yelling her name until his voice cracked and gave out.

She didn’t hear him.

She didn’t look back.

Lucia

Lucia killed the engine in front of the Whitmore gates and dropped the kickstand. The estate looked exactly like the kind of place her mother used to drag her to for charity dinners, white columns, manicured lawn, security lights that made the whole property glow like it was trying to prove something.

She didn’t bother with the intercom.

She walked straight up to the double doors, raised one combat boot and slammed the sole against the wood three times. The impacts cracked loud enough to echo off the stone facade.

“Chase Whitmore, you little fuck! Get your ass out here right now!”

No answer.

She kicked again. Harder. “I know you’re in there, you piece of shit! Open the fucking door before I put my foot through it!”

The lock clicked.

The right door swung inward.

Kendra stood there in the gap. Black-and-white maid outfit cut so low the lace trim barely covered her nipples. Skirt so short Lucia could see the tops of her thigh-high stockings. Face blank except for that same serene, empty smile Lucia had seen on too many Stepford wives at her mother’s old functions.

Kendra’s right hand stayed behind her back.

“Who are you,” she asked, voice flat and polite, “and what do you want with Master Chase?”

Lucia barked a laugh that had no humor in it. “Tell your precious Master Chase that I’m here to collect my mother. And tell him if he doesn’t hand her over I’m taking her anyway. One way or another.”

Kendra didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Then a voice floated from deeper inside the house, lazy and amused.

“Kendra. You can let her in. I’ll hear her out.”

Lucia didn’t wait for permission. She shoved past the maid hard enough to make Kendra stumble half a step. Kendra didn’t react. Just straightened her posture again, hand still behind her back, smile never slipping.

Lucia stalked inside. The marble floor clicked under her boots. The house smelled like expensive candles. TV noise drifted from the main living room, some sports commentary droning low.

She followed the sound.

Chase was sprawled on the long couch like he owned the planet. One arm thrown over the backrest. Open bag of flavored chips on the cushion next to him. He was eating them one at a time, orange dust coating his fingers, eyes half-lidded on the screen.

Lucia stopped in the doorway.

“You sick fuck,” she started, voice already rising. “Where the hell is my—”

Her words died when she saw where his feet were resting.

Her mother was on the floor.

Face-down. Head pressed to the carpet. Arms folded under her chest. Ass raised high enough that Chase could prop both socked feet on the curve of her cheeks like she was custom furniture. The skin across both globes was bright red, handprints layered over handprints, some already purpling into bruises. Lucia had spanked enough women in her life to recognize the pattern: hard, deliberate swats, no warm-up, no mercy. Yet Valeria’s face, turned sideways so Lucia could see it, was calm. Eyes half-closed. Mouth soft. Breathing slow and even. Serene. Peaceful. Like this was exactly where she belonged.

Lucia’s stomach flipped.

“That won’t be necessary, Kendra,” Chase said without looking away from the TV.

Lucia spun.

Kendra was right behind her, close enough that Lucia could smell the faint vanilla of whatever perfume she was wearing. The hand that had been behind her back was now out. Holding a slim kitchen knife. Blade catching the light.

“As you command, Master Chase,” Kendra said. She stepped back two paces, both hands returning behind her back. Knife still gripped loosely.

Lucia turned back to Chase.

He smirked. Snapped his fingers once.

Valeria moved instantly. Pushed up on her hands and knees, turned, crawled to Chase’s feet. He extended two fingers, still dusted with chip powder, without looking down.

She opened her mouth and took both in. Lips sealed around the knuckles. Tongue working slow, deliberate circles. Sucking the orange dust off like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. A soft, contented hum vibrated in her throat.

Chase finally looked at Lucia.

“We need to have a talk about your mother,” he said. “Yes?”