Arlene's POV
Warner's fury radiates through the room like a wildfire as he fixes his deadly stare on my long-lost grandmother. His eyes burn with such intensity that I wonder if he believes his rage alone could incinerate her where she sits.
His attention shifts to his father, who continues sipping tea with maddening calm while Rockford concentrates on his calligraphy practice. Nicholson giggles softly, offering Rockford a bright red pen. Warner's eyes darken to that dangerous shade I know all too well.
"You were supposed to be protecting her," he snarls through clenched teeth.
"I was protecting her, and she doesn't have so much as a bruise, your majesty. Lower your voice before you disturb my grandson's concentration." Mr. Warner doesn't even glance up from Rockford's sketchbook, his tone dismissive.
