Chapter 8
"She needed to learn her place!" Scarlett cried, her voice echoing shrilly off the marble columns. "I am going to be the mother of that boy! I have the right to discipline the staff! You cannot possibly be upset over a maid's diet when we have guests to entertain!"
"Do you believe my absence gives you the authority to dictate who lives and who starves under my roof?" Julian asked smoothly, exposing the fatal, rotting flaw in her hysterical narrative.
Scarlett swallowed hard, her lies fracturing under the weight of his absolute certainty. "She is manipulating you! She wants your money, she wants your power, she wants to take my place! You can't break our engagement in front of our families over a piece of trash!"
"You broke it yourself the moment you laid a hand on a woman under my protection," Julian stated, his voice echoing coldly across the room.
The word "protection" froze the blood of the fifty guests gathered around the banquet table. To claim a servant was under his absolute protection elevated her to a highly guarded asset of the syndicate.
"Protection?" Scarlett spat, her aristocratic features twisting into an ugly mask of pure, unadulterated venom. The sheer panic had finally given way to a desperate, cornered fury. "You are going to break an alliance that took two years to build over a maid? My father brings the entire southern political network to this table!"
"Are you under the impression that I require your father’s network to maintain my empire, Scarlett?" Julian asked calmly.
"You need us!" Scarlett screamed, slamming her manicured hands down on the low marble ledge, rattling the silver dog bowl. "Without the Vane family, the border factions will tear you apart! You are making a catastrophic mistake! You are choosing a servant over a queen!"
Julian’s jaw locked. He did not raise his voice. He did not reach for a weapon. His restraint was a masterclass in terror.
"Do you believe a queen commands respect by starving those beneath her?" Julian inquired softly.
He slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous capos, donors, and relatives sitting frozen at the long banquet table. His eyes locked onto Vincent, his most trusted lieutenant.
"Have you all finished your dinner?" Julian asked the room at large.
May you like
It was phrased as a polite question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute.
Chairs scraped violently against the polished marble floors as the fifty guests practically scrambled to their feet. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in expensive gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Julian Rook’s wrath.
