Victor leaned forward, his gaze locking onto the frayed, loose thread dangling from his great-grandson’s blanket. He looked at Lena’s cheap, scuffed boots. He looked at her sunken cheeks. The silence in the foyer grew so absolute it felt as though the atmospheric pressure had dropped.
“Adrian,” Victor said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. “Why does my great-grandson look like he was dressed from a charity bin?”
Adrian’s charming smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Grandfather, Lena insists on—”
Victor raised a single, calloused finger, silencing his grandson instantly. He looked directly at Lena.
“When you announced the pregnancy, Lena,” Victor stated, his eyes narrowing into cold, calculating slits. “I personally directed the family office to establish a dedicated care trust for you and the child to ensure my heir lacked for nothing. Wasn’t five hundred and eighty-two thousand dollars a month enough to buy the boy a decent coat?”
