The restaurant fell deadly silent after my outburst. Sebastian's face twisted with rage, his spiritual pressure pressing down on me like a physical weight.
"You dare speak to me like that?" He slammed his fist on the table, cracking the polished wood. "Since you've grown so bold, let's see if you can back it up. Kneel and break your own leg—the same way my son's arm was broken."
I laughed right in his face. "I'm not one of your obedient dogs."
My gaze drifted to the white-haired man still kneeling on the floor, his face contorted in agony. Something about his quiet dignity struck me. He'd been loyal to this family, and they'd broken him without a second thought.
Sebastian followed my gaze. "You pity Eamon? He's nothing. Just a tool that failed its purpose." He kicked a wooden stick toward me—the kind used for walking support. "Now break your leg, or I'll ensure your suffering extends far beyond physical pain."
