Miles Graves' POV
The crystal decanter shattered against the marble fireplace, sending amber liquid and glass fragments across the Persian rug. I stood in my private study, rage coursing through my veins like molten steel.
"Three weeks," I snarled at Elder Kane, who sat rigidly in the leather chair across from my desk. "Three weeks since that bastard humiliated me in front of half the city's elite."
Kane's weathered face remained impassive. "Master Graves, perhaps we should consider—"
"Consider what?" I whirled around, my hands clenched into fists. "That pompous child destroyed my reputation! Made me look like a fool in front of the Heavenly Justice Group!"
The memory of that night burned in my mind. Aiden Knight, barely out of his teens, dismissing me like I was some common thug. The laughter of the crowd still echoed in my ears.
"He's protected by the Zane family now," Kane said carefully. "Direct confrontation would be—"
