Andrew still stood with his mother at blade-point, the edge of his sword pressed so close to her throat that a thin line of blood had already formed. His grip trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the rush of adrenaline and hatred surging through his veins. His eyes never left his father and brother, both of whom were being tied up by his men.
"You made the right choice, Father," Andrew said, voice laced with venom. "It seems you still love Mother… regardless of how cold and detached you pretend to be."
The Baron's expression tightened with pain and regret.
"Andrew… I have done many bad things in my lifetime. I may not have been the best father to you, or any of you, for that, I am sorry. But this… this is not the way."
Andrew's jaw clenched.
"None of that matters anymore. I've come too far to step back or second-guess myself."
