Martin's POV
Two days later, the tension in the Howard household had reached a boiling point.
The moment I wheeled into the living room, I could feel the suffocating energy vibrating in the air. Mr. Howard, my father, was fuming—his face flushed, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed with fiery anger. He sat at the head of the dining table, glaring across at Jerom, who lounged carelessly in his chair like he had done nothing wrong.
“Explain yourself,” my father demanded, his voice barely under control. “What’s the meaning of that press conference?”
Jerom merely shrugged, unbothered by the intensity of our father’s rage. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest. “Father, it’s for the best,” he replied smoothly, barely lifting his gaze to meet my father’s.
“For the
