Cressida Blake dared to publicly disown a six-year-old boy from his own family portrait

The luminous, airy warmth of the dining room offered no solace to the woman kneeling on the floor. Cressida sobbed uncontrollably, her face buried in her hands, her diamond engagement ring catching the bright light in a mocking display of failed promises. The silence stretched, tight and unforgiving, broken only by her ragged weeping.

Atticus stood over her, an imposing monolith of masculine power. His polished leather shoes rested mere inches from the hem of her ruined silk gown. He waited, his patience a weapon as sharp as any blade.

"Are you prepared to answer my question, or must I extract the information through less civilized means?" Atticus asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.

Cressida flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup, her eyes wide with primal terror. She knew the stories of what Atticus Rowan did to traitors.

"It was Julian," Cressida choked out, the name tearing from her throat like barbed wire. "Julian Vance."

Maren gasped softly, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Julian Vance was the underboss of a rival syndicate, a man Atticus had been negotiating a fragile truce with for months. The betrayal was not just personal; it was a profound, dangerous breach of syndicate security.

Atticus did not react physically. His high-bridged nose and sharply defined jawline remained locked in a mask of cold composure. But behind his perceptive eyes, a dark, violent calculus was rapidly computing the necessary retaliations.

"Did you believe you could secure an alliance with me while bedding my enemy?" Atticus asked quietly.

"It was before the engagement!" Cressida pleaded, reaching out to grasp the leg of his tailored trousers. "It happened before the negotiations were finalized! I didn't know I was pregnant until a month ago! I was terrified, Atticus! If my father knew, he would disown me! I had to protect myself!"

Atticus looked down at the trembling woman clinging to his leg. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void.

"Do you expect me to harbor the bastard child of a rival under my roof?" Atticus asked.

He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached down with his artistic, tattooed hands and forcefully peeled her fingers off his suit. He stepped back, severing all physical contact with her forever.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't have my men escort you from this property immediately?" Atticus inquired, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with immaculate precision.

"Atticus, please, where will I go?" Cressida wept, crawling forward on her knees. "My father will kill me when he finds out the engagement is broken! Julian won't protect me!"

"Are the consequences of your treason my concern?" Atticus asked.

He reached into his jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Will you send a security detail to the grand dining room?" Atticus asked into the receiver. "Will you ensure Miss Blake is escorted to the front gates with nothing but the clothes on her back?"