Meanwhile, Moira decided she had enough of the party. No one wanted her there, and she didn't see a reason to stay. As she stood by the exit, wanting to see her best friend, Ivy, her father approached her, his expression a mix of frustration and expectation.
"Moira, did you get his suit dry-cleaned?" he asked, his tone sharp.
Moira crossed her arms and glanced away, deliberately ignoring him.
"I'm talking to you," her father said, his voice firm now, demanding her attention.
"Dad," Moira said, her voice steady and defiant. She turned to look him directly in the eyes. "Have you ever asked me how I was doing while I was in the UK?"
Her father froze.
"You abandoned me there while playing house in your new life," she continued, her tone sharpening with each word.
"I sent you money every month—more than enough to last you," he replied defensively, his frustration breaking through. He grabbed her shoulders, giving them a heavy shake. "I gave you everything, Moira! What else do you want?"
Moira let out a bitter chuckle, stepping back to shrug off his hands. "Yes, you sent me money," she said, her eyes narrowing. "But do you think that's what I wanted? You didn't even let me attend my own mother's funeral."
Her father let out a weary sigh, his expression clouded with frustration. "You shouldn't have come back," he said quietly, taking Moira's hands firmly in his. "I'll book you a ticket to leave again. Go back to the UK. Do whatever you want—party all day if that's what makes you happy. I'll support you."
Moira yanked her hands away, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer to him. "Why do you want me gone so badly?" she asked, her voice low and sharp. "What are you so afraid of? That I might discover something?"
Her father's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with anger as he leaned in. "If you came back to dig up the past," he said, his tone hardening, "especially about your mother's death, then you've made a grave mistake."
Moira's breath caught, but she held her ground.
"You don't get it, do you?" he yelled, his voice cracking with frustration. "Your mother killed herself! She committed suicide! That's the truth—whether you want to believe it or not."
Suicide? Moira scoffed internally. As if she'd ever believe such a lie. Even though she had been young when her mother died, the circumstances surrounding her death were etched in her memory. They had been planning a trip together—something her mother was excited about. How could she have committed suicide?
With a sharp hiss of frustration, Moira shot her father a look of disdain before turning on her heel and walking away. She left the party without sparing him another glance.
Meanwhile, Cedric's car rolled to a stop outside Rose Brothel. Stepping out with his driver, he was immediately greeted by a young woman with a polished smile.
"Sirs, let me guide you to your seats," she said, her voice smooth.
Without a word, the driver pulled out a sleek card and handed it to her. The woman's demeanor shifted instantly, her eyes widening with recognition. "Oh," she stammered. "Let me take you to him."
Cedric gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable as he followed her through the entryway.
The woman pushed the door open, her hands traveling ever so slightly as Cedric stepped inside. Without hesitation, he settled into a chair, his posture relaxed yet commanding.
"What drink can I bring for you?" she asked, her voice steady, though her unease was evident.
"I'm not thirsty," Cedric replied, his tone cool. Then, as if reconsidering, his gaze flickered toward her. "But perhaps…you could make something delicious for me and my men."
Her expression faltered, the faint trace of color draining from her cheeks. She knew exactly what he meant. "You're dismissed," Cedric said, flicking his wrist in a casual gesture.
With a curt nod, the woman slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"Bring him out," Cedric commanded, his tone sharp.
"Understood," the driver replied, pressing a discreet button near the door. With a faint hum, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a narrow passage.
The driver went into the secret door and returned moments later, dragging a man who was battered and streaked with blood.
Cedric's eyes darkened as he leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Let's begin."