Christopher
I pace the length of the dining room, my fists clenched so tightly my nails bite into my palms. The fury bubbling inside me feels like a volcano ready to erupt.
"I can’t believe that man has the nerve to threaten me in my own house," I shout, my voice echoing off the walls.
I slam a hand onto the table, the crystal glasses rattling in protest.
“Calm down, Christopher,” Celia says, her tone dripping with annoyance as she lounges in one of the chairs, whisky glass in hand.
She’s watching me like I’m some unruly child throwing a tantrum. “He’s bluffing. James Alexander doesn’t have anything on you.”
I whirl around to face her, my teeth grinding together. “On us, Mother. Don’t forget that.” My voice is sharp and biting, and it makes her flinch slightly. “This mess isn’t just
