“I didn’t know we had company,” Miles replied, his gaze moving from Titus to Viper—slow, assessing.
“Just an old family friend passing through,” John said quickly.
“John…” Titus murmured. “I didn’t know you had a son.”
His thoughts were already racing.
“Stepson,” John said, eyes fixed on his plate.
“Me?” Miles said lightly. “I’m Shelly’s out-of-wedlock mistake.” He squeezed John’s shoulder once more before pulling out the chair beside him and sitting down.
The atmosphere shifted.
Not subtly.
Drastically.
Titus watched as Miles took over. The easy reminiscence between him and John was shoved aside as Miles launched into a monologue about his own success. All the while he talked, he dictated how much food John had on his plate, then dragged his fork through the serving dish and claimed more than half the potatoes with a single, careless swipe.
Titus nodded occasionally, just enough to pass for polite attention—but he noticed when Miles stopped John from reaching for more bacon. The grip on the older man’s arm made John flinch. When the sweater sleeve slid upward, Titus caught sight of the bruise beneath it.
Not fresh.
Layered.
Old damage stacked on new.
This was senior abuse.
The rage hit hard—fast—and then escalated. It took Viper’s hand tightening around his beneath the table to keep Titus from snapping and driving the butter knife straight into the bastard’s throat.
Something moved to the right. A flicker of shadow near one of the side doors.
Titus looked up—and found himself staring into wide blue eyes. A little girl. Eight or nine, maybe.
Miles followed his gaze. His mouth tightened. “I thought I told you to stay in your room.”
She turned and ran.
“Who’s that?” Viper asked.
There was an edge in his voice now—cold, dangerous. Miles heard it, too.
“My daughter,” Miles said.
“She’s not allowed to eat?” Viper pressed. Titus couldn’t speak past the surge of fury climbing his chest.
Miles froze for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to matter. “Of course she is. Melody!” he barked.
Moments later, Melody hurried in. “Sir?”
“Take Wendy a plate,” he ordered, already dismissing her with a flick of his hand.
“Right away,” she said, her eyes cutting briefly to John before she hurried from the room.
Titus slipped his phone from his pocket and stood, circling the table.
Viper tracked him instantly—hawk-eyed, ready.
