The garden fell silent as if the world itself held its breath. All eyes were fixed on Michael Ashworth, the patriarch whose next words would reshape alliances throughout Veridia City.
I felt Isabelle's fingers tighten around mine beneath the table. Her touch anchored me amid the sea of hostile stares.
Michael rose from his chair with deliberate slowness. Despite his advanced age, he commanded the attention of every person present. When he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly across the garden.
"When did the press become so interested in an old man's birthday celebration?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
The reporter persisted, "Sir, the public is curious about your family's alliances. Could you please address the question?"
Michael's gaze swept over the crowd before settling on me. Something in his eyes—a mixture of approval and resolve—made my heart race.
