Chloe woke with the sunless morning, her internal clock a more reliable guide than the light. When she pulled back the curtains, she found the world outside buried in a thick, silent blanket of white. The forecast hadn't mentioned snow, yet this wasn't a gentle dusting—it was the aftermath of a sudden, violent squall. Even through the double-paned glass, a bitter cold seemed to seep into the room. She changed into a knit dress and was in the middle of washing up when a series of jarring crashes echoed from the hallway, loud enough to be a demolition crew. Twisting her hair into a loose knot, Chloe opened the door. "Helen, what's going on—" The words died on her lips. It wasn't a work crew; it was a war zone. The pristine house was in shambles. Throw pillows from the downstairs sofa were strewn by her door, stained with a dark, sticky substance. A porcelain vase lay in a thousand pieces against the far wall. The million-dollar oil painting that hung in the hallway had been defaced, a gash running through the canvas. It was pure chaos. Helen was trailing after Leo, her voice a strained plea. "Leo, please, don't touch that. That's Ms. Miller's favorite tea set." But she was too late. With a crash, he swept the set from its table. Leo stuck out his tongue and puffed out his chest like a miniature tyrant. "I wanna play with it! Uncle Ethan said this is my home now. You're just a servant. Who are you to boss me around?" He then looked up, his eyes locking with Chloe's silent, watching figure. His shoulders slumped. The memory of this scary woman from yesterday had given him nightmares, full of monsters and a menacing Santa Claus. He hated her. He had to make her leave. His mother had told him that once Chloe was gone, Ethan would belong only to them. Chloe's expression remained perfectly placid. "Go ahead. Play. Take your time." Leo blinked, his bravado faltering. "Really?" He’d just broken her favorite things, and she wasn't even mad? Leaning against the railing with a faint, unreadable smile, Chloe glanced toward the first floor, where Isabella stood, feigning ignorance of the entire commotion. "Of course. Just… don't touch the ink painting in the guest lounge. That one's my favorite." She couldn't be sure if Isabella had coached the boy or if he’d orchestrated this rampage on his own. It didn't matter. She was no saint. Someone had once taught her that when you’re bullied, the only proper response is to strike back ten times harder. Leo's eyes lit up. "Okay!" he shouted, before tearing off down the hall. Helen sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Ms. Miller, you and Mr. Carter spoil that child far too much." "It's fine," Chloe said, her voice a calm murmur. "Don't stop him. He's the Carter family's only grandson. As long as he's happy, that's what's important. Besides, Isabella hasn't said a word, has she? We should respect her parenting choices. If anything goes wrong, neither of us can afford to take the blame." Helen nodded, though her reluctance was plain. "You're too kind for your own good. That's why people think they can walk all over you." Chloe's smile never wavered, but she didn't reply. Instead, she asked, "Do we have any spare gift boxes?" "What kind are you looking for?" "It doesn't matter. Just something that can fit an A4-sized document." "There should be a few in the storage room," Helen said. "I'll go check." Once Chloe had the box, she returned to her room and locked the door. She carefully placed the signed divorce agreement inside, tied the lid shut with a silk ribbon, and finished it with a flourish, crafting a perfect bow. A tremendous crash echoed from downstairs. Chloe didn't even flinch. She tightened the loops of the bow and nodded in satisfaction. Beautiful. Perfectly done. Moments later, a frantic pounding rattled her door. "Ms. Miller, come down quickly!" Helen cried out. "Leo just ruined Mr. Benjamin Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter's final painting!" All traces of calm vanished from Chloe's face. "The one in the guest lounge?" "Yes," Helen confirmed. Chloe bolted from the room, moving so fast she twisted her ankle on the top stair, a sharp pain shooting up her leg. Downstairs, Leo saw her coming and lifted his chin in smug defiance, his expression a clear challenge: What are you going to do about it? Chloe ignored him, her gaze fixed on Helen. "Did you call the Carter residence?" "Not yet." "Call them." The words had barely left her mouth when Leo charged, ramming into her with unexpected force. "No! Bad lady, don't tattle!" Chloe cried out as she lost her balance, crashing hard onto the floor. Pain exploded from her tailbone. Isabella rushed to her side, all feigned concern. "Chlo, are you okay?" she asked, sighing dramatically. "Leo's just spoiled, I know. He doesn't know how to be gentle. He's only a child. Please don't be mad at him." Gripping her side, Chloe stared past her at the ink painting, now torn clean through the middle. A low, cold laugh escaped her lips. "So, allowing a child to destroy another person's property… that's part of your parenting philosophy, is it?" Tears instantly welled in Isabella's eyes. "I just looked away for one moment! Must you blame me for everything?" "One moment?" Chloe's gaze swept across the trail of destruction. "Look at this house. It isn't even noon. Tell me, Isabella, when exactly were you watching him?" As soon as Helen was out of earshot, Isabella's tone hardened. "Chloe! Why do you have to be so unforgiving? Are you really going to call the main house over one stupid painting? Do you honestly think Grandma will take your side over mine?" "Correction," Chloe said, her voice like ice. "That 'stupid painting' was Grandpa's final work before he died." As the weight of her words settled in the ruined hall, the sleek black form of a sedan pulled into the courtyard. The Carter family had arrived. And they had been fast.

Chapter 3: The Cold Invasion