Smiles Beneath the Surface
"Thank you, brother. I won't let you down."
Ammy D'Aurelius lowered his head slightly as he spoke, gratitude perfectly measured in his tone. Then he turned respectfully toward Patriarch D'Aurelius.
The old man exhaled a thin stream of smoke from his pipe, eyes calm but unreadable.
"As long as your brother agrees," the patriarch said evenly, "do your best and don't disappoint us again."
The words were not harsh.
But they carried weight.
Ammy bowed quickly. "Thank you, Grandpa. I'll go to the company now and familiarize myself with the work."
His posture was humble.
His voice obedient.
Only when he passed through the iron gates of the D'Aurelius estate did the mask slip.
His smile vanished.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened with something sharp and resentful.
He was also a member of the D'Aurelius household.
Yet in front of them, he stood like a servant awaiting permission.
Why was that old man so biased toward Julian?
