Rhys
The walk to the secluded corner of the Aurelian Hall felt like a march toward a firing squad because I knew my father was about to shoot me with his words.
I followed behind him as we moved away from the prying eyes of the guests, away from the Borealis chandeliers that cast everything in a deceptive, cooling blue.
As we neared the corner, the low, melodic hum of the orchestra began to fade, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart against my ribs.
I had expected a lecture, prepared myself for another one of his "legacy" speeches, a list of his life achievements, and a reminder of why I should be honored to carry the Calder name.
But as soon as the heavy velvet drapes blocked us from the main hall, I got the opposite reaction.
My father didn't say a word; he simply turned and slapped me hard across the cheek. It was a calculated strike delivered with the full weight of his Alpha authority.
