Chapter 8
The silence in the grand dining hall was heavy, pressing down on the guests like a physical weight. The bright, luminous colors of the room—the sparkling crystal stemware, the pristine white linens—stood in stark contrast to the dark, chilling reality of the confrontation. Juliette Vance was completely isolated, standing alone opposite the unified front of the Mercer family and their brave housemaid.
"Gideon, you cannot possibly believe the ramblings of an old woman and the lies of a jealous servant over your future wife!" Juliette shrieked, her American accent pitching up into a hysterical, defensive frequency. She gripped the edge of the mahogany table, her knuckles turning white.
"Do you assume my mother’s mind is as frail as the arm you bruised?" Gideon asked, his deep voice carrying a terrifying, unyielding authority.
"She is old! She imagines things!" Juliette cried, looking around the table at the dozens of powerful guests, desperately searching for a single ally. But the faces staring back at her were stony and unforgiving. "And that maid—she hates me! She planted this entire scene to humiliate me in front of the syndicate!"
"Would a woman plotting a deception risk her livelihood to expose a truth hidden beneath a gold cuff?" Gideon inquired, his perceptive eyes briefly flicking toward Mae before returning to Juliette.
Juliette’s chest heaved beneath her sculpted satin gown. She realized she was drowning, and every word she spoke only pulled her deeper into the abyss.
"I am a Vance!" Juliette shouted, her panic mutating into cornered, vicious entitlement. "My family brings the eastern ports to this alliance! You need me, Gideon! You cannot treat me like a common criminal over a domestic misunderstanding!"
"Do you believe a few shipping lanes buy you the right to torture my blood?" Gideon asked, tilting his head slightly. The extremely short stubble on his jawline caught the golden light, highlighting the lethal tension in his facial muscles.
He didn't wait for her to formulate another pathetic excuse. Gideon slowly stood up from his chair.
The movement was deliberate and commanding. His towering, masculine frame dominated the head of the table. He gently released his mother's hand, ensuring she was calm, before turning his full, terrifying attention to the woman he had intended to marry.
"Is this engagement anything more than a contract broken by your malice?" Gideon asked the room at large.
The question was rhetorical, a lethal command disguised as an inquiry. The guests understood instantly. The alliance with the Vance family was dead, annulled by an act of unforgivable disrespect.
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"You are making a massive mistake," Juliette hissed, her fair, rosy skin pale and slick with panicked sweat. "My father will not accept this insult. He will declare war."
"Will he declare war?" Gideon asked softly, a dark, terrifying calmness settling over his features. "Or will he thank me for returning his defective daughter before she caused a war he could not possibly win?"
