The grand ballroom of the Imperial Palace glittered with opulence, but tension wrapped around its gold like a vice. Silk gowns rustled as nobles murmured, turning toward the commotion near the eastern alcove where the moonlight barely touched.
"What's going on here?"
The Iron Duke's voice cracked through the buzz like thunder in a quiet storm. "Why so much noise?"
Murmurs escalated into hushed speculation.
"That's the Iron Duke!"
"Wait—who is the young man standing before him?"
"Is he mad? That man once crushed an ogre horde with a single command..."
Luca stood still, barely a step ahead of Aurelia. The dark-haired nobleman clenched his jaw. "This brat keeps interfering in our family's matters!"
The Iron Duke's sharp gaze zeroed in. His face, ever unreadable, hardened—just a flicker, but it was enough.
Then came the pressure.
Like a mountain had dropped on Luca's shoulders.
