Catherine's POV
The air in the room didn't just feel heavy; it felt electrified, the kind of tension that makes your skin crawl before a lightning strike. I stood between Julian and Gabriel, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack. My face throbbed, the bruise Lucy had gifted me blooming into a dull, pulsing heat that seemed to keep time with my pulse.
Beside me, Julian was a wall of tense muscle. His jaw was so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. I knew him—I knew that when he got this quiet, he was seconds away from a total eclipse of his restraint.
"Lucy! Don't you dare! Don't you dare to refer to Catherine as a lowlife stepdaughter, you miserable, spoilt brat!"
The outburst didn't come from Julian. It didn't come from Gabriel. It came from the doorway, from the one person in this house who had spent every single day perfecting the art of being a shadow.
My mother.
