Chapter 4
Julian’s blood ran cold, then surged hot with a sudden, blinding fury. He spun around, the polished leather of his shoes squeaking against the slick tile. Clara was standing a few paces back, her arms crossed lightly over the beaded bodice of her expensive gown, her expression carefully neutral. The contrast between her pristine elegance and his father’s broken posture in the background snapped something inside Julian. He didn't shout—he had too much respect for the quiet dignity of his father to cause a public scene with raised voices—but his tone was razor-sharp and laced with venom. He pointed a trembling finger past her shoulder, directly toward the old man huddled on the stool. "Dad?" Julian whispered fiercely, stepping into Clara’s personal space until she was forced to take a slight step back. "Who sent you in here?" Clara’s jaw tightened, the carefully constructed mask slipping for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of cold calculation. "Julian, be reasonable," she replied, keeping her voice low so it wouldn't carry through the heavy doors. "The guest list is... specific. People here wouldn't understand his background. It’s better for everyone." Julian stared at her, genuinely horrified by the casual cruelty in her words. The woman he had planned to spend the rest of his life with, the woman he had trusted to build a future alongside, viewed his father as a liability to be hidden in a service kitchen.
