The formal dining hall of the Monroe estate was drenched in a suffocating silence. High above the long table, a crystal chandelier cast a sharp, brilliant light over silver cutlery, fine porcelain, and untouched gourmet courses. The room, vast and oppressively quiet, felt less like a home and more like an opulent cage.
Sitting at the far end of the table, Jackline Monroe cut into her steak with precise, terrifyingly calm movements. Her posture was perfectly rigid, her expression smooth and pristine, yet a dark, calculated energy radiated from her every breath. Sitting directly across from her was Holino Ford. The younger Ford looked entirely out of place in the grand setting, slouched back in his chair, picking lazily at his food with a fork, his expression a mix of bored indifference and faint, dramatic exhaustion.
