Mark brushed Beatrice's hand aside with a cold, sharp motion. His eyes never left the business card in his hand. The shield bearing the twin lions glinted in the light of the chandelier, as if mocking Mark, who now stood amidst the ruins of his own dignity. A burning sensation spread from his palm to his solar plexus, triggering a surge of uncontrollable rage.
At his feet, Seren remained kneeling. The woman rested her temple against the marble table leg, her breath short and ragged. She didn't know what object Mark was holding, nor did she understand why the atmosphere had suddenly turned so tense. To Seren, that business card was just a piece of paper, as meaningless as the faded waitress uniform now clinging to her body.
"So this is why you've stayed in this house?" Mark said softly, yet his sharp tone was enough to silence the whispers of the guests around them.
Seren looked up slowly. She stared at Mark with a blank expression. "I… I don't know what that is, Sir."
