Meilin's face had gone from composed to thunderous. Her hands, previously relaxed, now trembled with barely suppressed rage. "How dare you—all of you—come into my household and—"
The fury was real now, no longer manufactured or controlled. How dare this man—this inferior, powerless man—humiliate her in front of her daughter, her niece, her servants? How dare he see through her carefully laid plans and expose them with such casual confidence?
She'd underestimated him. Badly. She'd seen a man and assumed weakness, assumed stupidity.
"Your household?" Sabrina took a step forward. "This is my mother's household. You're just the caretaker. And a piss-poor one at that, if children are getting poisoned under your watch."
