"I'll grow my own business."
The moment Damien has said that….
Adeline's expression shifted—just enough.
He let that sink in, let the words hang like a gauntlet thrown on polished marble.
Adeline stared at him for half a heartbeat.
Then she laughed.
Short. Sharp. Not hysterical—but biting. It echoed off the high ceilings like a note of disbelief draped in silk.
"He'll grow his own business?" she repeated, the mockery rolling off her tongue like a toast at a banquet. "At what, exactly? And when? With which skill*?" She cocked her head, the smile spreading, practiced and poisonous. "Don't tell me you plan to start a tea shop out of spite?"
Dominic didn't speak.
But his gaze never left Damien.
Damien, for his part, didn't blink. Didn't scowl. He only returned her smile—with one of his own.
Quieter.
Sharper.
Almost… entertained.
"At what…" he echoed. "That's a good question."
