Constance stopped two feet from me, her eyes burning with a hatred so potent it felt radioactive. “You actually think you’ve saved her, don’t you?” she spat, her voice a low, vibrating hiss.
I looked down at her, maintaining absolute stillness. “No, Constance. My daughter saved herself the moment she decided to stop lying to protect your son. I simply answered the phone.”
“She is weak. She will come crawling back to him. Women like her always do.”
I smiled faintly, a gesture entirely devoid of warmth. “That has always been your pathetic strategy, hasn’t it? Break their legs, and then demand gratitude when you offer them a crutch.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You know absolutely nothing about the bonds of family.”
I stepped into her personal space, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper. “I know enough to recognize a deeply disturbed mother who raised her son to confuse psychological terrorism with love.”
Her face twitched violently. For a microsecond, the aristocratic armor shattered, revealing the rotting core beneath. She leaned in closer. “William should have taught you your place. He should have taught you humility.”
