Chapter 613:
Kristen sneered, “So what? I’m not afraid of her. If she keeps acting so arrogantly, I’ll teach her a lesson myself.”
Rylie, cake in hand, looked for a quiet spot to sit. But before she could settle, a stir rose from the hall’s entrance. The lively chatter ceased at once, as though the room itself had held its breath.
The butler straightened, his voice carrying clear and strong through the silence: “Mr. Brad Morgan has arrived.”
At last, he appeared.
Brad entered wearing a flawless black suit, plain yet strikingly elegant. The only accent to his attire was a cool, gleaming gold tie clip.
His face was stern, lined with weariness, but his posture stood tall as a mountain. Each step was steady, and the very air shifted with his presence. The crowd’s eyes fixed on him. Conversations stilled. He had become the center without trying.
Brad’s gaze swept the room with precision. He acknowledged a few prominent figures with a nod, then paused when he saw Rylie. A faint nod, subtle yet clear, passed between them. Finally, his eyes turned to his so-called family—cold, distant, void of warmth.
Cillian stepped forward with a warm, inviting smile. “Brad, you’re finally here. Everyone’s been waiting for you.”
Frieda stood still, her eyes locked on Brad, as if searching for something familiar in his face. He was her firstborn, yet the years had blurred the lines of his features in her memory. She seemed almost lost, unsure of how to reconcile the man before her with the child she had once known.
“Why are you just standing there? Frieda, this is your son,” Cillian prompted gently, a soft nudge to help her break the distance between them.
At his words, Frieda moved slowly, as if compelled by some invisible force. Brad’s gaze met hers, cool and distant, and her heart tightened under the weight of it. He felt like a stranger to her now, his calm and imposing presence making her falter.
“Brad…” she whispered, a name that once held so much warmth, now edged with confusion.
Brad gave only a slight nod, his expression unreadable, as though he were a man surrounded by ghosts—those of his past and of the family he no longer felt a part of.
Footsteps echoed from the second floor, breaking the tension in the air.
Finally, Sean descended the stairs, supported by the butler. His arrival seemed to draw the attention of the room, his presence matching the formality of the event. He surveyed the gathering, his gaze resting on Brad for a brief moment before a flicker of relief passed across his features. But it quickly steadied into his usual calm composure.
Addressing Cillian and his family, he spoke in a measured tone, “Good. Since everyone is here, let’s begin the meal.”
The group moved into the grand dining hall and settled into their seats. At the head of the table, Sean took his place, with Brad seated immediately to his right—an unspoken sign of his elevated position. Across from them, Cillian’s family found their places, each figure fitting into the puzzle of their strained family dynamic.
Rylie’s seat, too, was near the front, though Kendrick and Marcus sat between her and Brad, as if the family had instinctively created a buffer, a barrier they weren’t willing to cross just yet.
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