Chapter 2 - The Sound of Broken Glass
The quiet chiming of champagne glasses briefly faltered as nearby guests noticed the commotion. A few younger associates in tailored suits covered their mouths, letting out low, suppressed chuckles at the spectacle of the old man being pushed aside like unwanted furniture. To them, Silas was nothing more than a forgotten grandfather kept around for ceremonial tax write-offs, a ghost who lived in the west wing while real power moved through the city.
Marcus turned his head slightly, taking in the scene with cool detachment. His eyes lingered on his father’s shattered watch, then shifted up to Celeste’s triumphant expression. He did not step forward. He did not offer a hand to gather the broken gears. Instead, Marcus adjusted his cufflinks, took a slow sip of vintage bourbon, and quietly turned his back on the wheelchair, silently giving his approval to his wife’s public cruelty.
Silas did not flinch. He did not gasp or raise his voice. His head tilted slightly down toward the floor, his clear eyes fixing on the cracked white clock face and the tiny golden second hand that gave one final, trembling tick before falling still.
May you like
Celeste took a deliberate step forward. The sharp heel of her Italian stiletto hovered right over the brass casing of the watch. With calculated weight, she brought her heel down directly onto the exposed mechanism. The crunch of brass and gears echoed softly against the pillar, grinding the last unbroken springs into dust.
She looked directly into Silas’s eyes, her gaze bright with open contempt.
