The air at the dining table felt as if it had frozen solid.
It wasn't because of the autumn chill. It wasn't because of the night breeze. It was because the three most powerful members of the family in this empire were staring at TWO HANDSOME MEN as if they were sewer rats caught stealing the royal crown.
I found myself swallowing hard. Gulp.
Father stood tall like an ancient, priceless—and lethal—marble statue. Dominic stood in an offensive stance, his eyes red like glowing embers ready to explode. Max… oh, Max. He didn't need fire. He just stood there with an aura as cold as the North Pole, and bam, everyone's courage vanished (or more accurately, just mine).
I slowly shifted my gaze to the right—and found Duke Tristan still standing casually, his face unbothered, wearing a blank expression as if… he were attending a mathematics class instead of a family battlefield. (Though honestly, math feels like a war to me, too).
