Chapter 7 - The Unraveling Realm
Charles Whitmore did not rush.
Every stride across the polished marble was deliberate, calculated, and heavy with decades of absolute authority.
The surrounding socialites, men and women who had spent the evening posturing for influence, stepped back until their backs met the rose-draped tables.
No one dared to breathe.
Charles stopped three feet from where Nora knelt with Lucy in her arms.
He did not look at Daniel.
He did not look at Celeste.
He knelt down on the hard stone, completely unconcerned with the blood or broken glass staining his tailored trousers.
His hands, steady despite his age, gently reached out to touch the back of Lucy’s curls.
"Grandpa’s here, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice softening into something incredibly tender. "I've got you."
Lucy let out a choked gasp, turning her tear-streaked, bloodied face toward him.
"Grandpa... my tooth..." she whimpered, holding up her red-stained fingers.
Charles looked down at the tiny white tooth lying beside the shattered crystal.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath his pale skin.
Slowly, he stood back up.
The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by an abyss of pure, unadulterated ice.
He turned his gaze toward Daniel.
Daniel took another half-step back, his throat moving as he swallowed hard.
"Mr. Whitmore..." Daniel began, his voice lacking its former authority, hands rising in a defensive gesture. "You don't understand the situation. Nora caused a massive scene. She attacked Celeste—"
"Silence," Charles said.
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It was not a roar.
It was a command so cold it froze the air in the room.
