"Now I understand," Raya continued calmly, her voice cutting through the charged silence like a blade wrapped in silk, "why Grandfather chose Adrian over these two."
Her finger lifted.
It pointed, unmistakably, at Patrick.
Then it shifted, slow and deliberate.
To Victor.
The movement was unhurried, almost graceful, yet it carried the weight of a verdict.
For a heartbeat, the room froze.
Then it exploded.
Chairs scraped harshly against the marble floor. Shocked gasps rippled through the long dining table. Anger flared, raw and immediate, while disbelief hung thick in the air like smoke after a gunshot.
But among the chaos, one person laughed.
Softly.
Amused.
Evelyn Blake, Patrick's wife, leaned back in her chair, one elegant leg crossing over the other. Her lips curved upward, not in outrage, not in offense, but in genuine entertainment. Her eyes gleamed as she studied Raya the way one might study an unexpected twist in a well-written play.
