Rafael's lips tugged into a slow, calculated smirk—one that carried more bite than amusement. But his steel-grey eyes betrayed him for a single flicker, revealing the bruised echo of a boy who had grown up starved of affection, starved of safety.
"Everything you've done?" he repeated softly, dangerously. "You mean being a deadbeat father who stood by while your wife tried to murder your own son?"
The words were smooth, almost casual, but they sliced like glass.
"Spare me the lectures," Rafael went on, leaning back in his chair, his voice dropping to a colder register. "And let's get one thing straight—my grandfather built the legacy. Not you. You just leached on his name and convinced yourself you carved it."
A beat. A breath. A silent dare.
"Goodbye, Father."
He didn't give Charles the dignity of a final rebuttal. His thumb hit end call with surgical precision.
