The heavy scent of white tea and imported orchids hung in the air of the grand sitting room at the main Ford estate. Geney Ford sat with terrifyingly perfect posture on the cream silk sofa, her manicured fingers tightly gripping a delicate porcelain cup. Across from her, Holino Ford leaned back in a plush armchair, swirling a small glass of whiskey with maddening nonchalance. The silence between them stretched tight, vibrating with an unsaid tension that had been building for days.
Geney set her cup down on the glass table with a click that echoed too loudly against the high ceilings. Her eyes, cold and analytical, locked onto her stepson's face.
