Harold stormed through the grand hall of the Hendrix estate, his footsteps pounding against the marble floor like the relentless beat of a war drum. His face, flushed with a deep crimson. His breaths came in sharp, ragged bursts, his chest heaving under the weight of his fury.
“That girl has the audacity to walk out on me? On me?” He roared, his words slicing through the air like a whip. His eyes darted wildly around the room, as if searching for something—or someone—to unleash his wrath upon. “She thinks she can get away with this just because of some unknown benefactor?”
The echoes of his outburst reverberated off the vaulted ceiling, amplifying his rage until it seemed to fill every corner of the grand hall. His hands, now clenched into trembling fists, bore the tension of barely rest
