Lana's breath caught in her throat the moment Draco's hand struck Jayvaughn's face. The sound echoed in the sterile hospital hallway like a whip crack, and for a second, even time seemed to freeze. Her heart lurched painfully as she rushed toward her husband, clutching his arm.
"Draco, what did you do that for?" she cried, her voice shaking with both disbelief and anger.
Jayvaughn's cheek burned bright red, but he stood still, his body rigid and his eyes downcast. He didn't even raise his hand to touch the sting. The silence in his posture only made Lana's heart twist more painfully.
Milford, who had been standing a few steps away, stiffened as though he'd just been electrocuted. His son—his pride, his bloodline—had been slapped in front of him, and the fury inside him snapped free.
"What's wrong with you?" Milford bellowed, stepping forward, his voice booming in the hallway. "Why are you hitting my son?"
