His poor little wife

"Mom, how could you do this?" Damien exclaimed, his voice filled with surprise and disapproval. Maria was taken aback; she had always known Damien to be respectful, and this unexpected outburst caught her off guard. "Son, are you alright?" Maria queried, concerned, hoping it was just a misunderstanding. Damien then instructed, "Maya, please take her to my room." He glanced sternly at his mother, causing James, who had just finished bringing the luggage downstairs, to freeze. He hesitated, unsure whether to flee or stay. "James," Damien addressed, his anger barely contained, "I asked you to pack the young lady's belongings. How dare you enter my room without my consent and touch my wife's things? Return them and hand in your resignation letter in my study immediately." He demanded, gesturing for James to kneel. James hurriedly knelt, apologetic. "Sir, I apologize, sir. I never meant to disrespect Madam." "You work for me, James, not my mother," Damien clarified, turning back to his mother. "Now, leave," he commanded, his tone firm. Maria was still confused by the situation, but Damien's words left no room for negotiation. "I said, leave my house, Mother. Before our actions lead to regret," he repeated, his gaze fixed on her.