Alfred was absolutely dumbfounded. He stood at the edge of the grand foyer, his white-gloved hands clasped behind his back, but his composure was slipping. He had served the Thorn family for decades, witnessing the cold rise of Damian from a calculating heir to a ruthless titan of industry.
He had seen Damian crush competitors without blinking and process scandals with ice in his veins. But he had never, in all his years, seen his master walk through the front doors carrying a disheveled, tear-stained toddler like the boy was a piece of priceless, fragile glass.
"Liam is family now, Alfred," Damian announced, his voice steady but carrying an underlying note of "don't-question-me."
