Inside Count Vinlig's study, the air was thick with tension.
The Count sat behind his imposing desk, his keen eyes fixed on his son, Lucian, who stood before him with his gaze lowered to the floor.
Outside the door, a handful of maids and a few soldiers strained to catch fragments of the uncomfortable exchange happening within.
"So, you truly believe you can engage in something perilous and then use your birthday as a means to evade the consequences?"
Count Vinlig's hands rested on the desk, his steely gaze fluctuating between Lucian and the very weapon that had created such turmoil.
Lucian could feel his heart sink, recognizing that his father's disappointment hung heavily in the air.
"No," Lucian conceded, fully aware that in this critical moment, he needed to embody remorse rather than cleverness, particularly with witnesses eavesdropping just outside.
He understood his father's vulnerabilities all too well.
