His Trophy Wife Is A Predator

The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private dining room.

Hazel sat perfectly straight at the head of the long mahogany table. A flawless, traditional English breakfast was laid out before her.

She picked up her heavy silver knife and fork. She sliced into a roasted tomato with the rigid, elegant posture of someone attending a royal banquet at Buckingham Palace.

The dining room doors flew open with a violent crash.

Chelsea stormed into the room. She was wearing a custom haute couture dress, her face twisted in absolute fury.

She slammed her Birkin bag onto the empty chair next to her.

"Do you have any idea what they are saying about us online?!" Chelsea screamed, waving her phone.

Hazel did not look up. She calmly brought a piece of tomato to her lips, chewing slowly, completely ignoring the tantrum.

Chelsea's face turned purple. She marched right up to the head of the table.

"Are you deaf? Caryn is destroying our family's reputation and you are just sitting here eating!"

Hazel slowly placed her silver fork down.

The soft clink of the metal against the fine bone china instantly silenced the room.

Hazel lifted her chin. She looked at Chelsea with the exhausted patience of someone dealing with a toddler.

"Where exactly," Hazel asked smoothly, "did Caryn get her pregnancy ultrasound done?"

Chelsea blinked. The anger drained from her face, replaced by sudden confusion.

"At... at a private clinic downtown," Chelsea stammered.

Hazel let out a soft, mocking hum.

"And why," Hazel continued, her eyes locking onto Chelsea's, "would a woman who claims to be carrying the heir of a multinational CEO come crying to you, instead of hiring a top-tier shark lawyer?"

Chelsea's eyes darted to the floor. Her fingers nervously twisted the expensive fabric of her dress.

"Because... we are best friends," she whispered defensively.

Hazel picked up a crisp white linen napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth.

"You think she was asking for your help," Hazel said, her voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "She was only using you as a free megaphone to broadcast her lies to the Powers family."

The words hit Chelsea like a physical slap to the face.

Her breath hitched. A sudden rush of memories flooded her brain-the way Caryn always made sure they were in public when she cried, the way she always asked Chelsea to post photos of them together.

Chelsea's skin turned a sickly pale white. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She had been played.

Hazel watched the realization hit the girl. She calmly picked up her knife and sliced a piece of bacon.

"Her ultimate goal," Hazel stated methodically, "is to force a public confrontation at the Hampton charity gala this weekend."

Chelsea's chest began to heave.

The humiliation burned hot in her veins. The one thing she hated more than anything in the world was being treated like a brainless, rich idiot.

Hazel reached across the table and pushed a glass of ice water toward her.

"Drink. Think," Hazel ordered.

Chelsea didn't touch the glass. She stared at Hazel, her breathing ragged.

"Why are you telling me this?" Chelsea asked, her voice shaking with suppressed rage.

Hazel leaned back into her tall chair. She looked down her nose at the girl.

"Because I will not allow anyone to use such vulgar, low-class tactics to insult my family."

The words "my family" hung heavy in the air.

It was a declaration of absolute sovereignty. For a brief second, Chelsea felt a strange, terrifying wave of security wash over her.

Chelsea ground her teeth together. She snatched her Birkin bag off the chair.

She spun around and marched toward the door, her high heels stabbing the floor with murderous intent.

Right as she reached the doorway, Chelsea stopped.

She didn't turn around. She kept her back to the room.

"Thank you," Chelsea muttered under her breath.

Before Hazel could reply, Chelsea stormed out of the villa, slamming the door behind her.

Hazel picked up her teacup. She held the delicate porcelain up to the sunlight, admiring the amber color of the Earl Grey tea. A cold, satisfied smile touched her lips.

By the wall, the butler stood frozen. His jaw was slightly open. He couldn't believe the most explosive temper in the family had just been weaponized and redirected so easily.

Hazel turned her head and met the butler's eyes.

"Prepare my study," she commanded. "I have documents to review."