Chapter 7
The words hung in the bright, golden air like an ignited fuse. The absolute, unvarnished sociopathy of the statement was a catastrophic verdict.
Dorian’s jaw tightened slightly. The extremely short stubble on his face bristled with suppressed, explosive violence. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as his fists clenched at his sides. He did not yell. He did not reach for a weapon. His restraint was a masterclass in terror.
He moved with absolute, terrifying precision. Dorian gently reached down and accepted the clear glass ornament from Caleb’s small hands. He held the fragile sphere, filled with his mother's life-saving medication, securely in his tattooed palm.
Dorian stepped forward, placing his broad-shouldered frame directly between Maribel and the velvet sofa where Elinor rested. He created an impenetrable physical shield of masculine authority, ensuring his mother and his son were completely protected from the woman in the burgundy gown.
Tessa did not retreat. Despite her rumpled apron and disheveled hair, the young maid moved closer to the sofa. She placed a gentle, reassuring hand firmly on Elinor’s frail shoulder, anchoring the older woman in the chaos.
Caleb, sensing the sudden, severe shift in his father's demeanor, stayed close beside Dorian's leg, his innocent eyes wide with confusion.
Dorian held the clear ornament entirely motionless. He locked his dark, calculating eyes directly onto Maribel. He watched her with a cold, unwavering attention that promised absolute, undeniable destruction.
"You attempted to murder my mother under my roof," Dorian stated, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that shook the crystal glasses on the nearby tables.
"She is weak, Dorian!" Maribel snapped back, her American accent losing its practiced elegance, pitching higher with defensive panic. "The old generation needs to make way for the new! You are dragging your feet on the wedding! I did what was necessary to expedite our mutual interests!"
"Does protecting our mutual interests require torturing a maid to cover your tracks?" Dorian inquired, his gaze fixed on her like a predator watching its prey.
"She is a servant!" Maribel shrieked, pointing a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at Tessa, though she shrank back under Dorian's lethal glare. "She is nothing! I am the daughter of a king! You cannot humiliate me in front of our families over an old woman's pills!"
"You humiliated yourself the moment you brought poison into my home," Dorian replied coldly.
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He slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous capos, donors, and relatives standing frozen among the marble columns. His eyes locked onto Vincent, his most trusted lieutenant.
"Have you all finished your champagne?" Dorian asked the room at large.
