I watched as Alistair's face contorted with rage, his complexion shifting from red to purple. The ballroom had fallen completely silent, everyone riveted by our confrontation.
"How dare you?" he seethed, stepping toward me with clenched fists. "After everything I've done for you—"
"What exactly have you done for me, Mr. Dubois?" I cut him off, the years of pent-up resentment finally breaking free. "Allowed me to live in your house while treating me like a servant? Permitted your wife to show me basic human kindness?"
Arthur's hand remained steady at the small of my back, silently bolstering my courage.
Alistair jabbed a finger in my direction. "You ungrateful little—" He stopped abruptly, seeming to remember where we were. His eyes darted around at the crowd of wealthy onlookers before landing back on me with cold fury. "You are no daughter of mine. Not anymore."
"Alistair, please," Beatrice stepped forward, her face pale with distress. "This isn't the place—"
