The chandelier's light fractured into a thousand shards across the polished marble floor, but no one dared to admire it. The dining hall of the Cross villa felt like a courtroom awaiting a verdict. At the head of the long mahogany table, on a slightly raised platform, sat the patriarch. His back was rigid, one hand curled around the silver wolf-head of his walking stick, the other resting on the arm of his chair. Even seated, he loomed like a carved idol, radiating contempt.
Everyone else stood.
Evelyn stood closest to him on the left, only a step from the head chair. Her black dress hung smooth as armor, but her hands were fists at her sides. Her knuckles were pale against her skin. Beside her, slightly behind, stood Lucas Marwick, his suit immaculate, eyes fixed on the far wall. On the patriarch's right side, Helena stood with her head high but her shoulders tense, Edward just beyond her, jaw tight. Further down, Damien leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyes like stone. Logan shifted restlessly at the edge of the group, fists clenching and unclenching. Brielle hovered near the door, anxious, her teeth pressing into her lip.
The old man's cane slammed once on the marble. The sound cracked the air like a gunshot.
"You are all a disgrace," he said, his voice low and thunderous. "This family -- my family -- built everything you see. Without me, you are nothing. And now, without me, you cannot even move a finger. You let others decide. You beg for scraps. You shame me."
His eyes cut to Evelyn, the force of his stare like a blade. "And you. My eldest grandchild. My only granddaughter. Supposed to be the example. Supposed to be the one who leads. And yet you can't even secure your own marriage. I arranged the match. I gave you the leverage. I made sure the Marwicks couldn't refuse. All you had to do was make them bend. But you let them drag you into their timetable, their conditions. You wait for permission like a servant. You enjoy humiliating me?"
Evelyn swallowed hard, her chin lifting a fraction. "I'm working as fast as I can," she said, her voice tight but audible. "I'm trying..."
"Fast?" His cane struck the marble again, a hard, sharp crack. "You call this fast? You've turned a power play into a negotiation. That's not speed, that's weakness. And weakness in this family gets you thrown aside. I don't care how you do it. You have three days to force this through on our terms. If you fail, you will have no place in this company. You are too slow and too stupid for the company anyway. The only thing you've ever been remotely useful for is this alliance. So do the one thing you're good for. Get married."
Her shoulders trembled. She sank into the chair beside her, but his voice snapped like a whip: "Did I tell you to sit? Stand when I'm speaking."
She rose again, blinking hard, her lips pressed tight to keep from crying. Lucas shifted but said nothing. The patriarch's cold eyes moved to him.
"And you, Lucas Marwick," he said. "Don't think I don't see you hiding behind your father's shadow. I agreed to this union because you're the eldest son. But if you cannot match the steel of this family, I'll throw you aside and give her to Sebastian instead."
Lucas's head snapped up. "No!" His voice cracked through the hall. "I'll get it done. I'll make sure of it."
The echo of his outburst died. Evelyn's fists trembled at her sides. Damien's jaw worked as if he were grinding stone. Logan's face flushed red.
"You treat us like property," Logan muttered, then louder, "especially my sister. You think you can stand there and bark orders like we're livestock. You talk about us, insult us but you never let any of us decide a damn thing for ourselves. All you do is hand down edicts and call it tradition."
"Logan," Helena hissed, a silent no flashing in her eyes. "Stop. Apologize."
But he pushed on, voice rising. "No, I won't stop. You call her weak, you call her useless. She's been running herself ragged for this family while you sit here spitting insults. You break people and call it leadership. You talk about legacy but all you're doing is making sure no one wants to carry it after you. You've got everyone scared into silence, and you think that's respect? It's just fear, old man. And fear runs out."
A bodyguard's fist cut him off with a crack to the jaw. Logan staggered, but his hands went up, palms bloody. "Go ahead," he spat, "hit me again. That's all you're good for, right? Beating your own blood while preaching about power."
Another blow to the ribs doubled him over. Helena's voice shook. "Logan, please. Stop. Apologize."
He wheezed, straightened, glared at the patriarch. "You think fear makes loyalty? You think you can beat me quiet like a dog? You're pathetic."
A third punch knocked him to one knee. "Stop!" Brielle cried, voice breaking as she stepped forward. "Please, stop this! You're hurting him! Stop!" She turned to the patriarch, shouting, "Stop it!"
The old man raised his hand, palm out, and the guards froze. The hall fell silent except for Logan's ragged breathing. Brielle darted to him, kneeling, reaching to help him up, but he shoved her away roughly, still doubled over, refusing her hand. She stumbled back, tears streaming down her face.
Helena's fingers twitched at her sides, her whole frame trembling as the patriarch's cane thudded once more against the marble, the sound like a judge's gavel. Damien's knuckles whitened, his stare fixed on the old man, his fury locked behind his teeth. Evelyn stood rigid, black dress trembling around her knees. Lucas kept his eyes on the floor. The patriarch swept his gaze across them all, cold and sharp, and for a long moment the only sound in the vast hall was the tick of the clock and the echo of his cane against the marble.