The tension reached a boiling point during the anniversary dinner. Arthur had arranged a lavish spread—lobster, champagne, and a silence so heavy it felt like a physical presence.
Beatrix wore a dress of midnight blue satin that clung to every curve, the neckline plunging dangerously low. She spent the entire meal playing a game of invisible touch. Under the table, her high-heeled foot was sliding up Julian's calf, tracing the muscle of his thigh.
Julian was struggling to maintain his composure. He kept glancing at Beatrix, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning.
"You're very quiet tonight, Julian," Arthur remarked, cutting into his lobster with clinical precision. "Still spending your days idling away the inheritance I'm providing?"
Julian's eyes snapped to his father. "Maybe I'm just bor
