Salome’s POV
“This is the best way for everyone, starting right now!” My father’s voice echoed off the marble floors as he lingered in the archway. He gave me one final, sharp look before his footsteps faded down the hall.
Barnabas didn’t even look up. He sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, looking every bit the entitled heir he was born to be. He moved his silverware with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The scrape of his knife against the porcelain plate was the only sound in the room. It was infuriating. We weren't having a quiet Sunday brunch. I was fighting for my life, and he was enjoying his steak.
“Are you seriously going to pretend I didn’t just speak?” I gripped the edge of the table. My knuckles were white.
He didn’t break his pace. “Sit down and eat your food, Salome.”
