Chapter 216 Lock Him Inside His Room
“I dare you to say that again!” Eric’s voice thundered through the room, fury barely contained.
his
From the very start, he had been holding his temper in check, but William’s words were the final straw, snapping the last thread of his patience.
“You really think I clawed my way to the top just to roll over because you said so? If you hadn’t recklessly thrown everything you’d built away, would I be the one groveling today? Would I ever need Austen’s help? Hell no! Even his brother Trey wouldn’t have fazed me!”
Austen carried a certain weight in Tofral’s social and business circles, but his influence largely came from his younger brother, Trey Chadwick.
Trey wasn’t just a powerhouse in Stotta; he was the top dog. Ruthless, sharp, and with connections that ran deep, he had built an empire. On top of that, his son–an elite special forces captain, if the rumors were true— was already a legend in his own right. With that kind of backing, Trey’s throne was secure, and by comparison, Austen was just a shadow of his formidable younger brother.
Of course, if the Mitchells could forge a marriage alliance with the Chadwicks, Eric would be one step closer to Trey’s good graces–an insurance policy for the future.
But while Eric seethed, William remained unfazed, peeling yet another orange. The fruit was juicy, perfectly sweet, and he had already gone through three.
He didn’t even look up when he finally responded, voice calm as ever, “Suit
yourself.”
“Enough, Eric,” Esme cut in before the argument could escalate. “William has had a long day and must be tired. Let him rest.”
She turned to William with a gentler tone. “Son, don’t be too hard on your father. He is dealing with a lot. Oh, and I left your suit for tomorrow on your bed–be sure to change into it first thing in the morning, alright?”
William gave her a glance but said nothing.
When he stepped into his room, the suit was indeed there, neatly arranged on the bed, complete with a boutonniere for the groom.
It was simple, almost underwhelming- nothing like the elegant suit he had worn when he married Renee.
After two days without a proper shower, he made a beeline for the bathroom, letting the hot water wash away his exhaustion. Emerging with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his chiseled abs on full display, he looked every bit the man who could make hearts race without trying.
Just as he was about to head downstairs for a glass of water, he realized the door wouldn’t budge.
His brows knit together. Then, in a cold, clipped tone, he called out, “Mom. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Esme, her heart pounding, had done what she thought was necessary–she had locked William’s door from the outside. If he was having second thoughts about the wedding, she wasn’t about to give him a chance to bolt.
“I’m sorry, William, but I had no choice,” she called through the door, her voice pleading. “Please, just go along with this, okay?”
William didn’t respond. He simply stood there, his expression unreadable.
“William,” Esme urged again, her tone softening. “If you really don’t like Laurie, you can divorce her in a few years, alright?”
From inside the room, William let out a slow, measured breath. His brow furrowed. “So you’re asking me to marry her just to discard her later? Isn’t that exactly what happened with the Carter family? Mom, aren’t you worried about what people will say?”
“That doesn’t matter!” Esme insisted, though her voice wavered. “Son, please, just—” But before she could finish, her throat tightened. Blinking back tears, she turned and hurried downstairs, leaving the door locked behind her.
Down in the living room, Eric was still brooding, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. When he saw Esme, he shot her a sharp look. “Well?”
“I locked the door,” she admitted, wringing her hands. “Eric… are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
“It has to be!” Eric snapped. “I won’t have the Mitchell family turned into a laughingstock!”
Esme nodded but couldn’t shake the gnawing unease in her chest. She knew her son better than anyone—if William had truly made up his mind, no locked door, no pleading, and certainly no threats would change it.
