The party was in full swing. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over the ballroom, where power moved in whispers and toasts. Deals were made in between sips of vintage wine. Santos Davenport's world was one of refinement, status, and control.
William was ruining it.
Santos stood near the edge of the room, watching as his son leaned against the piano, glass in hand, and laughed—too loud, too careless. A circle of people surrounded him, half entertained, half scandalized.
William had never been the obedient heir. But tonight, he was more than reckless. He was defiant.
Santos's jaw tightened as he watched William reach for another drink, ignoring the disapproving glances, the hushed murmurs.
He was doing this on purpose.
A server approached Santos, bowing slightly. "Sir, should we—"
"No," Santos cut him off. He never caused scenes. His son, however…
William lifted his glass, as if about to make a toast, but instead, he turned to the orchestra. "Play something for the dead, will you?" he called out, voice edged with something bitter.
The music faltered. People exchanged nervous glances. Santos exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring.
William's gaze flicked to his father's. A challenge.
Oh, he was doing this for her.
Vivien.
Santos had buried her once, but William wouldn't let her stay dead. He was dragging her into the light of high society, making sure no one forgot how she had never belonged here. How she had made him too free.
A slow smirk curved onto William's lips. "Nothing? No song for the ones we've lost?"
He turned back to the guests, pretending to be deep in thought. "Ah, but of course. My mistake." He raised his glass. "We only drink to the living here."
The silence was suffocating.
Then—he threw the glass.
It shattered against the marble floor, the sound sharp and violent. A few gasps. A woman's hand flew to her chest.
Santos didn't move.
He just watched.
William held his ground, still smirking, but his eyes burned with something raw. Something Santos had seen before.
Pain.
Grief.
Rage.
This was not just rebellion. This was a declaration of war.
Santos exhaled slowly and took a sip of his bourbon. Then, finally, he turned to his assistant and spoke, voice calm.
"See to it that he learns his place."