"Are you mocking me, Damien?" Dominic's voice was low, dangerous. "Are you trying to play a prank?"
His fingers curled against the polished wood of his desk, his jaw tightening as he exhaled sharply through his nose. His gaze, cold and piercing, locked onto Damien's with the weight of absolute authority.
"Do I look like a fool with time to waste on childish nonsense?" Dominic's voice was razor-sharp, slicing through the air with effortless control. "You stand here, throwing out impossible claims as if I would entertain them."
Damien didn't flinch. He didn't waver.
Instead, his smirk vanished.
His expression hardened, his dark eyes steady and unwavering as he met his father's gaze head-on.
"Do I look like I'm joking to you?"
A beat of silence.
Dominic's eyes narrowed. "You are not?"
"I am not."
The study, already thick with tension, felt suffocating now. Owen's breath was slow, controlled, but his hands—clasped behind his back—were curled just slightly tighter than before.
