Bianca stepped closer, her perfume—a cloying mix of jasmine and ambition—wafting over James. "Darling James, be reasonable. He's just lost the love of his life. And that baby... oh, the tragedy." Her voice trembled artfully, but James saw through it, the way her fingers flexed as if already imagining clutching Rafael's arm. "Let me sit with him. I can be his rock in this storm."
James folded his arms across his chest, his expression turning to stone. The warmth drained from his face, leaving only cold resolve.
"I said no," he repeated, his tone steady but edged with warning. "Mr. Vexley has always been clear about this—whenever he's in a condition like this, only essential personnel are allowed anywhere near him." His gaze cut between the two sisters, unflinching. "And that doesn't include socialites sniffing around for attention or whatever twisted game you're playing."
