Chapter 4
Leander’s large, heavily tattooed hand gently closed around Caleb’s tiny fingers. The contrast was stark—the powerful, ink-stained knuckles wrapping securely around the fragile, trembling hand of the six-year-old. It was an unmistakable declaration of protection.
Leander didn't look down at his son. He kept his cold, observant eyes locked entirely on the woman standing across the table.
Marielle’s disarming smile faltered under his intense, unblinking scrutiny. The cinematic lighting starkly illuminated the sheer terror now gripping her fair, rosy face. She looked frantically around the massive room, desperately searching for an ally among the hardened capos or wealthy politicians. No one moved. The elite members of the Cole syndicate were entirely loyal to the man standing at the head of the table, and they recognized an execution when they saw one.
"Then who was it meant for?" Leander asked.
His voice dropped slightly, each word measured and heavy as lead. He utilized his signature controlled pause before the word "who," maximizing the terrifying impact of the question. The inquiry completely destroyed her defense. If the recording of him denying his own son wasn't meant for the child to hear, its very existence implied a massive, treasonous conspiracy.
Marielle’s smile faded completely. Her perfectly painted lips parted, but no explanation came out. Her hand tightened convulsively around the closed evening clutch, her knuckles turning bone-white. The color drained rapidly from her cheeks, leaving her looking ghastly against the custom satin of her evening gown.
Adele remained standing perfectly still beside Caleb, her hand still resting lightly on the boy's shoulder. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as she witnessed the absolute, brutal dismantling of the woman who had threatened her livelihood just hours before.
Every single guest in the sprawling dining room remained utterly silent, facing Leander. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the metallic tang of impending violence.
"Did you fabricate my voice, Marielle?" Leander asked softly, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, though he remained on his side of the table. "Did you construct a recording of me disowning my own blood?"
"Leander... darling, please," Marielle stammered, her voice cracking horribly. "It's a misunderstanding. The audio... it was altered! Someone sent it to me! I was investigating it!"
"Were you investigating it by playing it in the parlor where my son plays?" Leander inquired smoothly, his head tilting slightly.
Marielle gasped, taking a panicked step backward. "I didn't know he was there! I swear! I was just... I was trying to find out who made it!"
"And yet," Leander murmured, his deep voice a lethal hum, "you threatened my housemaid with termination if she spoke of it. Do innocent women threaten witnesses?"
May you like
Marielle looked around desperately. She caught the eye of her brother, Ethan Cole, who was sitting halfway down the table. Ethan's face was pale, his eyes wide with shock. He slowly shook his head, refusing to intervene.
"Hand me the phone," Leander demanded quietly. It wasn't a request; it was a final sentence.
