The cold, dominant voice of Allen Morgan reverberated through the vast expanse of the Deva Hall, cutting through the suffocating tension like a polished blade. It was a sound that carried no heat, only the absolute finality of a sovereign decree.
Andrew Martin stood frozen, his eyes dark with a venomous, calculating hatred. He stared at Allen’s face—a face he had once considered beneath his notice—and in his mind, he tore the young man apart a thousand times over. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on him in front of the very peers he sought to lead.
"Allen Morgan!" Andrew barked, his voice trembling with the effort to remain composed. "I will ask you one last time: have you truly considered the ramifications of this idiocy? If you drive the the Martin family out of thi
