*c***k!*
The slap landed with brutal force—Mr. Connor didn't dare hold back. Every strike against Demontae had to be real, had to hurt.
Only this might extinguish Lirael's rage, only this might make the Veyra Family spare them.
So despite the ache in his chest, he swung with everything he had.
Better his hand than Lirael's people. If she unleashed her wrath, Demontae wouldn't just be bruised—he'd be lucky to survive.
The moment the slap connected, Demontae howled, his shriek piercing the air like a stepped-on cat.
"Dad! Have you lost your mind?!" he screeched. "You're beating me for her? Just some business deal! So what if we lose the Veyras' project? Am I really less important than money?!"
Demontae couldn't process this. Never in his spoiled life had his father raised a hand again
