“What?” His eyes flash. “Should I lower my standards? Let incompetence fester just to preserve the feelings of our waitstaff?” He gestures at the wreckage he created. “This is what happens when we stop punishing failure. People get comfortable and then they get sloppy.”
A maid hurries forward to clean the mess, and Kian’s foot hooks around her ankle. She stumbles hard, barely catching herself on Dom’s chair.
“Careful now,” he tuts. “We wouldn’t want you falling into my son’s lap. Though that wouldn’t be the first time a servant has tried to seduce their way up the ranks, would it?”
Her face goes scarlet as she scrambles away. The silver fork warps in Dom’s grip, metal straining with the force he refuses to release.
“Now then.” Kian swivels back. “Where were we? Ah yes, your miraculous recovery. Tell me, does anything feel different? Besides the obvious enhancement to your backbone.” He drops his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “I must say, watching you resist my son’s rather pathetic attempts at affection this morning is fascinating.”
Dom’s teacup explodes in his grip.
“Oh, sensitive subject? How marvelous!” Kian claps, delighted. “Nothing like relationship drama to spice up breakfast.” He snaps his fingers without looking. “Someone clean up my son’s latest display of emotional instability and bring him another cup. Preferably one he can’t turn into a weapon.”
“Stop it,” I snap, reaching for Dom’s hand. “We are fine.”
“Oh, are you now?” Kian purrs. “He’s got such a tender heart under all that curated brutality. Be a real tragedy if it were his downfall.”
I lean into Dom’s touch, letting my head rest against his shoulder. His surprise shows in the slight catch of his breath.
“We’re perfect,” I whisper, lips grazing the edge of his jaw, while his pulse leaps beneath the touch.
Dom shifts, mouth brushing softly over my hair. “What are you doing?” he whispers. “One minute you’re cold, the next . . .” His fingers curl around my hip. “Something’s wrong.”
I don’t answer. I just keep up the performance. Let Kian see what he wants to see: a pliant fiancée. A happy puppet. A weapon still dancing in its velvet box.
“Now then,” Kian drawls, reclining as if none of this matters. “About today’s agenda. TheWhispersilkspread needs to sparkle. We can’t have Eclipsera’s most eligible bachelor looking anything less than dick-drunk with adoration.” His smile carves straight through my composure. “Though after your little meltdown in that charming interview, perhaps it’s safer to keep our firecracker off camera.”
“I have meetings,” Dom mutters, but Kian waves him off.
“Cancel them. This takes priority. The public needs reassurance that at least one of you is committed to this union. Besides”—his eyes find mine, glinting with cold mirth—” what could possibly be more important than salvaging your charming bride’s reputation?” He tilts his head, expression curdling into something darker. “Next time, darling, stick to the talking points I provide. In the future, your punishment might not be so gentle, and losing such a good man like Raze to your childish tantrum was such a shame.”
My fingers tighten around the teacup. The porcelain clicks too sharply against its saucer when I set it down, but I can’t help it. Raze’s death is the presence at the table, and Kian knows exactly where to press that bruise.
“Any objections to our plans, sweetheart?” His gaze never wavers. “Or are we all playing nice this morning?”
I meet his stare, my smile poisonous. “Of course not. Everything sounds perfect.”
“There’s a good girl.” The words are a purr. “We’ll make a proper Blackwood of you yet.”
The dining room doors creak open again and Octavia glides in without a word. Her black silk dress whispers against marble as she claims her seat.
“Darling.” Kian’s voice carries none of the warmth he uses when tormenting us. He brushes his lips against her cheek, a gesture that looks almost violent in its formality. “I trust you’ll keep an eye on our newest addition while Dominic and I handle today’s obligations?”
Octavia’s smile is immaculate. “Of course. Though I suspect Aria no longer requires a chaperone.”
“Daddy!” Margaux’s voice cuts through the tension as she saunters in, a vision of chaos wrapped in couture. Her dress matches Octavia’s in color, but that’s where the similarity ends. Where Octavia wears control, Margaux wears sin. “You’re stealing my favorite brother already? I was hoping we could have a proper family breakfast. How cruel.”
“Youronlybrother,” Dom mutters.
Kian’s face softens just a touch as Margaux leans in to kiss his cheek. “Princess.” The endearment carries genuine warmth. “I’d never rob you of your quality time, but duty calls.”
“It always does.” She rolls her eyes and claims the seat beside me, draping one leg over the other. “Though I suppose someone has to make sure he looks pretty for the cameras.” She smirks at Dom. “Remember that disaster shoot last year? When they asked you to look ‘less murderous’ and more ‘approachablydangerous’?”
Despite it all, my lips twitch. Dom had stormed into The Den that day, fully prepared to set the place on fire.
“Yes, well,” Kian cuts in, rising smoothly. “We can’t all be screen-ready degenerates like you. Up, son.”
Dom rises slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I see the protest building in his throat, the way he wants to fight this separation. But Kian’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, and we both know what disobedience costs.
