Mr. Woodsman stood there like a grotesque monument to excess. He wore a coat of ivory wool, tailored so tightly across his protruding belly that the silver buttons strained against the fabric, looking as though they might snap and fly off at any moment. His trousers were a blinding, stainless white, tucked into black boots polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the muddy street he despised.
"What are you doing here?" Miguel's voice was a low growl. He stepped in front of Madeline instinctively, his shoulders squaring.
"How rude," Woodsman smirked, pulling back his lip to reveal a glint of silver among his teeth. He ignored Miguel entirely, his eyes sliding like grease toward Madeline. A slow, oily smile spread across his face, making her skin crawl. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Of course," Maria said, her voice trembling but proud as she gestured from her wheelchair. "Come in."
Woodsman stepped inside, his presence instantly shrinking the small room. He looked around the cramped cottage, his nose twitching. The disgust on his face was a physical thing, poorly masked by a facade of politeness. "Such a... quaint home you have," he said, the word 'quaint' sounding like an insult.
Madeline stepped forward, her hands shaking as she offered a cup of tea. He didn't even look at the chipped ceramic mug; he simply waved it away with a jeweled hand as if the liquid itself were poisoned.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, sir?" Maria asked, clutching her shawl. "If it's about the work, I apologize. I haven't been well, but if you give me just a few days—"
"Do not distress yourself, Maria," he interrupted, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I understand you are getting... fragile. But your granddaughter," he turned his predatory gaze back to Madeline, "she is young. She is strong. She can take your place."
"I'm sorry, sir," Maria said, her voice suddenly sharpening with maternal steel. "But my granddaughter is off-limits. She has her own path."
Woodsman chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. He crossed his legs, leaning back into their old, sagging chair as if it were a throne. "You know, I never understood why you keep her so hidden, tucked away in this hovel. I can tell there is a very beautiful woman behind that humble cloak and veil mask. Who knows?" He leaned back, making himself comfortable. "I might even make her my third wife."
The air in the room froze. Madeline felt a wave of nausea roll over her.
"Mr. Woodsman, I—" Maria started, her face pale.
"Aren't you tired of living like this?" Woodsman pressed, leaning forward, his shadow swallowing Madeline. "I can give her a life of silk and silver. Just give her to me, Maria. Name your price. Consider the debt forgiven."
The sound that followed was like a lightning strike.
CRACK.
Miguel's fist slammed into the wooden table with such violence that the tea mugs rattled and jumped. "I don't care who you are," Miguel hissed, his face flushed a dark, dangerous red. "But I won't have you speak of her as if she were a piece of livestock. You will not disrespect her."
Woodsman didn't flinch. He looked at Miguel with a slow, bored expression. "And who is this peasant? Your protector? Your boyfriend?" He looked Miguel up and down, a cruel glint in his eye. "He might be younger than me, but I assure you, I am still quite... vigorous in the aspects that matter." He punctuated the sentence with a slow, grotesque wink at Madeline.
That was the final thread.
Miguel's self-restraint snapped like a dry twig. Before anyone could breathe, he lunged. A heavy, calloused fist connected squarely with Woodsman's jaw. The sound of bone hitting flesh echoed through the small house. Woodsman's head snapped back, his expensive white coat suddenly stained with a spray of crimson from his lip."How dare you!" Miguel roared, landing another blow that sent the older man reeling back against the wall.
"How dare you speak to her like that!"
"Miguel, stop!" Madeline screamed, throwing herself toward him, grabbing his arm. Charlene rushed forward too, pulling at his shoulders, but Miguel was a whirlwind of suppressed rage, landing blow after blow on the man who had tried to buy her.
"Enough!" Maria's voice cracked through the chaos like a whip.
Miguel froze, his fist cocked back, his chest heaving. Woodsman slumped against the wall, his face a ruin of bruises and blood, his pristine white coat ruined.
"Get out," Maria whispered, her finger pointing toward the door. "Get out of my house and never come back."
Woodsman spat a glob of bloody saliva onto their floor, his eyes burning with a hatred so cold it turned Madeline's blood to ice. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, looking at the red on his palm.
"You bunch of wild animals," he hissed, his voice trembling with a lethal promise. "You will regret laying your filthy hands on me. Every one of you."
He turned his gaze to Madeline, his eyes narrowing into slits. "And you... forget the deal we had. Two weeks is gone. You have five days to pay me every single silver coin, or you will find out exactly what happens to peasants who bite the hand that feeds them."
He didn't wait for a reply. He stumbled out into the morning light, leaving behind a silence so heavy it felt as though the roof were about to collapse. Five days. The clock hadn't just sped up; it had become a countdown to their destruction.