Vael's POV
I followed my father into the private alcove off the main ballroom, every muscle in my body tense. The noise of the gala faded behind us, replaced by the heavy silence of old money and unspoken threats. Crystal glasses and expensive cologne still lingered in the air, but the atmosphere felt suffocating.
My father stopped near a large window overlooking the estate gardens and turned to face me. He looked exactly as I remembered, sharp features, cold eyes, the kind of presence that commanded obedience without raising his voice.
"Vael," he began, voice smooth but edged with steel. "It's good to see you back where you belong."
"I'm not back," I replied flatly. "I'm only here because you made it clear I didn't have a choice."
