"Your son, you say? How utterly charming."
Olivia set her fork down with a chilling, deliberate calmness.
A frigid smile played on her lips, sharp enough to draw blood.
"I truly intended to let this evening pass without incident," Olivia began, her voice low and dangerous.
"But your audacity never fails to startle me. I wonder which fool convinced you that you still hold any scrap of authority or belonging in this house?"
"You are a Hamill, Madam. You are no longer a Lockron."
A flicker of bitter resentment crossed Talia's face, but she masked it quickly behind her stony facade.
Olivia didn't slow down.
"Your son? No, my dear. This man is my husband—the Duke of Lockron."
"Do not attempt this sudden performance of motherhood before me; I am well-acquainted with the dirt you are molded from."
A stunned silence smothered the room.
The words vibrated through the air, sending visible shockwaves through the gathered guests.
