The ballroom erupted in gasps. Some nobles froze, others exchanged shocked glances. Count Erickson stood rigid, his face draining of color, then flushing red with fury.
"What?" he barked. "Do you even understand what you're saying, Andrey?! You're disgracing this family!"
Andrey didn't look up. His silence spoke louder than any protest.
Julian leaned back lazily in his chair, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
"Excellent. A true gentleman at least, that's what it looks like," he said, his voice dripping with irony.
Liv watched them coldly. She could see it the rot beneath the facade.
That kind of submission wasn't guilt; it was calculation.
Count Erickson clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. Yet before the Emperor, he could do nothing but grit his teeth. Meanwhile, Lira calm, composed, the picture of grace hid a thin, triumphant smile. Her plan was unfolding exactly as she wished.
