Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
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Quincy fumbled for words, flustered beyond belief, but I smoothly cut her off.
"Morgan, so Quincy really is your daughter." My voice carried an icy edge. "What a shame. It appears the Winslow family will suffer the consequences of her actions..." Without giving him time to respond, I laid out Quincy's transgressions in crisp detail before ending the call.
Seconds later, Quincy's phone rang.
Her hands shook violently as she answered, every inch of her face screaming terror.
Morgan's enraged voice blasted through the conference room speakers: "Have you lost your damn mind? You dare mess with a Beaumont? Are you trying to get me killed?"
"Listen carefully, girl - if Ms. Beaumont takes offense, our entire family will be panhandling on street corners by next week!"
"I don't give a damn about your petty dramas. Get on your knees right now. Grovel. Crack your skull on the floor if that's what she wants!"
"If the Beaumonts don't forgive this... don't you dare show your face at home again. I have no daughter stupid enough to drag our family into ruin!"
The call disconnected, leaving Quincy shell-shocked. Her phone slipped from trembling fingers.
When she turned to me, realization dawned across her paling face. "You... you're from the capital?"
I pressed a finger to my lips in silent warning.
Quincy collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, forehead thudding against my shoes. Dignity forgotten, she became a sobbing wreck at my feet.
"Ms. Beaumont, please! I'm sorry! I was blind, I was cruel, I'm lower than dirt!" Each word came out in desperate heaves. "I'll do anything - take my life if you want it! Just spare my family!"
True to her father's command, she began smashing her forehead against the tile. Crack. Crack. Crimson splattered across the polished floor. Still she continued, too terrified to stop without permission.
Behind us, Anne watched through splayed fingers, her muffled gasps barely audible.
I observed Quincy's performance with detached boredom - just another spoiled brat learning consequences. When her bloody fingers twitched toward Leonard's sleeve, the man recoiled like she carried the plague.
Realizing her punishment wasn't enough, Quincy started raining brutal slaps across her own face. The sharp smacks echoed down the hallway. Blood sprayed from her split lips, yet the punishment continued.
"I was wrong... please Ms. Beaumont... mercy..." The words bubbled through ruined lips.
The spectators stood frozen - some clutching their mouths, others too stunned to breathe. Silent questions hung heavy in the air: Who the hell is Nicole Beaumont that she can break the Winslow heir like this?
"Morgan, so Quincy really is your daughter." My voice carried an icy edge. "What a shame. It appears the Winslow family will suffer the consequences of her actions..." Without giving him time to respond, I laid out Quincy's transgressions in crisp detail before ending the call.
Seconds later, Quincy's phone rang.
Her hands shook violently as she answered, every inch of her face screaming terror.
Morgan's enraged voice blasted through the conference room speakers: "Have you lost your damn mind? You dare mess with a Beaumont? Are you trying to get me killed?"
"Listen carefully, girl - if Ms. Beaumont takes offense, our entire family will be panhandling on street corners by next week!"
"I don't give a damn about your petty dramas. Get on your knees right now. Grovel. Crack your skull on the floor if that's what she wants!"
"If the Beaumonts don't forgive this... don't you dare show your face at home again. I have no daughter stupid enough to drag our family into ruin!"
The call disconnected, leaving Quincy shell-shocked. Her phone slipped from trembling fingers.
When she turned to me, realization dawned across her paling face. "You... you're from the capital?"
I pressed a finger to my lips in silent warning.
Quincy collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, forehead thudding against my shoes. Dignity forgotten, she became a sobbing wreck at my feet.
"Ms. Beaumont, please! I'm sorry! I was blind, I was cruel, I'm lower than dirt!" Each word came out in desperate heaves. "I'll do anything - take my life if you want it! Just spare my family!"
True to her father's command, she began smashing her forehead against the tile. Crack. Crack. Crimson splattered across the polished floor. Still she continued, too terrified to stop without permission.
Behind us, Anne watched through splayed fingers, her muffled gasps barely audible.
I observed Quincy's performance with detached boredom - just another spoiled brat learning consequences. When her bloody fingers twitched toward Leonard's sleeve, the man recoiled like she carried the plague.
Realizing her punishment wasn't enough, Quincy started raining brutal slaps across her own face. The sharp smacks echoed down the hallway. Blood sprayed from her split lips, yet the punishment continued.
"I was wrong... please Ms. Beaumont... mercy..." The words bubbled through ruined lips.
The spectators stood frozen - some clutching their mouths, others too stunned to breathe. Silent questions hung heavy in the air: Who the hell is Nicole Beaumont that she can break the Winslow heir like this?
End of Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You book page.