OH.
OH, THIS.
THIS WAS THE WRONG SENTENCE.
THIS WAS THE SENTENCE THAT TRIGGERS WAR.
I looked at Dominic.
His face—
Red.
Max—silent, but scarier. Even though he wasn't the one insulted, he and Dominic were a package deal right now.
My father—not moving. That was worse.
He looked at Dominic as if he wanted to hit his cotton-candy head with a giant concrete nail.
I immediately gave a stiff smile.
"Hahaha! Let's not kill each other before we're rich! Oh no, I mean... the murder... it's..." I said.
I turned to Lucien.
"So… how many can you produce?" I asked again.
He looked at me.
And the world…
Stopped.
"How many do you want, My Lady?" Oh gods, what is this.
That smile, those words.
It was... so....
…
…
…
I REFUSE TO INTERPRET THIS AS AN ORDINARY SENTENCE.
This isn't business. This is a confession.
Why could he say something so different to me?
Am I that special?
My face felt hot. My hand went up to cover my mouth.
