Early the next morning, Rowan awoke to a guard's voice at the door, informing him that the villa was surrounded and no one was getting out.

With a slap on the table, Rowan stood up, his injured hand bleeding anew. "Insolence! That ungrateful brat tried to imprison me! What is he thinking?"

Sydney tried to soothe him, "Rowan, try to calm down. Your hand is bleeding again."

She shouted, "Get the driver to ready the car. Can't you see his hand bleeding? We need to get him to the hospital, pronto."

Before she could finish, a doctor with a medical kit entered from outside. "I'm a physician, and I can help treat the wound."

Rowan snorted, "And just who the hell are you?"

The doctor replied, "As I said, I'm a doctor. Unless you want your hand to be ruined, let me bandage it."

At that moment, Oliver walked in, clad in a crisp grey business suit, his tousled hair adding to his vigorous demeanor. "If you don't want to die, stay put. If you're itching for a death wish, try breaking through. The mercenaries at the door will find killing you as easy as slaughtering a chicken. Don't believe me? Be my guest."

Rowan stood up, pointing a bloodied finger at Oliver. "Oliver, I am your father! How dare you treat me this way!"

Oliver retorted, "I'm here to show who calls the shots in the Baldwin family!"

Their eyes met; one cold and unfeeling, the other ablaze with rage.

Sydney, standing aside, was frantic, "Oliver, for heaven's sake, he's your dad. Can't you sit down and talk this through?"

Oliver's lips twisted into a mocking smile, his gaze intense and dark as he stared at her. "And what exactly are you in all this?"

Sydney was taken aback but persisted, "Oliver, I know you dislike me, but he's still your father. Aren't you afraid of what people will say?" "People? Who will talk about this?"

Sydney was at a loss for words, silenced by his rebuff.

In a fit of anger, Rowan swung at Oliver but was effortlessly caught and shoved aside. George, ever the attentive assistant, offered a wet wipe, which Oliver took and used to clean his hands as if Rowan's touch had sullied them.

Sydney watched, her heart hardening against Oliver. "Oliver, your father and I married after your mother passed away. Your hostility towards me is excessive. You may not like me, but do you not fear the talk o outsiders?"

Oliver watched her with icy detachment, as if she were an inanimate object, his face dark as a storm cloud. His cold voice sounded, "You think marrying after my mother's death washes away the fact you were the other woman? Who the hell are you to speak of my mother?"

A murderous intent flickered in Oliver's eyes, and Sydney recoiled, unable to face his daunting gaze.

The tension was shattered by the ring of a phone. Oliver pulled out his cell, his face softening at the sight of the familiar number and name. As he answered and walked away, his voice was indulgent and tender, "Josie."

Sydney and Rowan were stunned. They'd never seen Oliver so gentle. Clearly, this Josie meant a lot to him.

Sydney helped Rowan to his feet. "Rowan, you should talk to Oliver properly. This can't be good for your relationship."

"There is no father-son bond with that monster!" Rowan's eyes were bloodshot with fury.

But Oliver was already gone.

...

Outside the villa, Oliver spotted Josefina arriving in another car. He walked towards her, his eyes filled with affection. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would've driven your car to pick you up."

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