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Chapter 717
Chapter 717:
A heavy, terrifying silence fell over the room.
Through the open brass doors walked an elderly man — silver-haired, his face carved from granite, leaning heavily on a solid gold cane topped with an eagle’s head. He moved slowly, but the aura of absolute, old-world power radiating from him was suffocating.
It was Patriarch Alistair Lancaster. Victoria’s long-reclusive husband. The legendary phantom who had stepped into the shadows decades ago, granting his wife dictatorial control over the family’s operations. The fact that the true founder of the empire had emerged from self-imposed exile meant the current crisis had reached the bedrock of the Lancaster legacy itself — a seismic event carrying the sheer weight to challenge even Beatrice’s iron-fisted rule.
Alistair stopped at the end of the carpet. His sharp, predatory eyes swept slowly across the silent crowd. He ignored the politicians. He ignored the billionaires.
His gaze locked directly onto the center of the room, fixed with absolute precision on Grayson and Isolde.
The heavy brass doors of the Waldorf Astoria’s grand ballroom stood wide open. A cold draft swept in from the hallway, though it was nothing compared to the freezing temperature of Alistair Lancaster’s gaze.
Alistair leaned his weight onto his solid gold eagle-headed cane, surrounded by a wall of Blackwater security contractors. The chaotic noise of the gala died instantly. Wall Street titans and powerful senators stepped backward without thinking, parting like the Red Sea to create a wide, empty corridor down the center of the marble floor.
Alistair’s sharp, predatory eyes cut through the distance and locked entirely on Grayson and Isolde.
Grayson’s spine turned to solid steel. A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. His breath stopped. Facing the absolute patriarch who had controlled the Lancaster family for fifty years, he felt a suffocating panic close around his throat.
Belle was standing a few feet behind him, her heart beginning to race, a flush rising to her cheeks. She looked at the terrifying old man and felt a surge of delusional certainty. She forced the memory of Isolde’s public questioning from her mind, twisting the evening’s events into something that served her narrative — a trial by fire for the family’s future matriarch, nothing more. She told herself that Isolde’s academic jabs had merely been the opening act, designed to test her composure. Now the true patriarch had arrived to validate her. To anoint her.
Dо𝗐𝘯𝗹𝘰𝗮𝗱 𝘗𝘋𝖥𝘴 𝘧𝗿ee 𝗈ո gаl𝘯о𝗏е𝗅𝗌.сo𝗺
She actually believed that Grayson’s recent financial investments in her company meant he had finally convinced his grandfather to accept her. She thought this was her coronation.
Alistair ignored the desperate, fawning smiles of the CEOs lining the path. His leather shoes struck the marble floor with a heavy, rhythmic thud, each step amplifying the crushing pressure in the room.