Peter sensed it immediately—there was no warmth in Shark’s eyes. No mercy. No recognition of status.
Swallowing hard, he bowed his head again, forcing his spine to bend lower than his pride would ever allow. He loathed this. Hated kneeling before scum like Shark and Vera. But hatred meant nothing in the face of people who could erase lives on a whim.
Shark finally spoke, his voice lazy yet sharp enough to draw blood.
“Knowing your father doesn’t give you permission to bark like you own the place, boy.”
Peter flinched.
Grit scraped painfully into his knees as he lifted his head. Sweat drenched his back, cold and sticky, sliding beneath his collar. Still, he crawled forward a fraction, clinging desperately to the only shield he had left—his surname, even though it already felt paper-thi
