Chapter 2
The sound of Zariah hitting the floor severed the polite hum of the banquet like a blade. Aaliyah Vance, looking breathtaking in her elegant formal dress, dropped her champagne glass. It shattered against the marble, but she didn't care. She immediately dropped to her knees, her smooth, glowing dark brown skin flushed with panic, and pulled Zariah tightly into her arms.
"I've got you, baby. I've got you," Aaliyah whispered, frantically checking the little girl for injuries.
Zariah buried her face in Aaliyah’s neck, her tiny shoulders shaking. She looked up, her beautiful brown eyes fighting tears. "Mommy… am I not really family?"
"You are my whole world, Zariah," Aaliyah said fiercely, kissing her forehead. "Don't you ever listen to her."
From across the banquet hall, Marcus had seen the entire exchange. The murmuring crowd instantly parted for him. He walked directly toward the main table, his strides long, measured, and radiating an aura of absolute death. The entire room became deathly quiet. Even the hardened bodyguards lining the walls seemed to hold their breath.
Aaliyah stood up, helping Zariah to her feet while keeping the child shielded behind her legs. She looked at Marcus as he approached, her eyes blazing with protective fury.
"She kicked the chair out from under her," Aaliyah stated, her voice trembling with rage.
Eleanor scoffed, rolling her eyes. "She is a stray, Marcus. You embarrass this family by letting her sit with the bloodline."
Eleanor lunged forward, grabbing Zariah roughly by the upper arm, intent on dragging her toward the kitchen doors. "Come with me, you little brat."
She didn't make it two steps.
May you like
Marcus moved with blinding, terrifying speed. He caught Eleanor’s wrist in a vice grip. With one fluid, forceful motion, he tore the older woman's hand entirely away from the child. He stepped smoothly between them, moving Zariah safely behind his massive, imposing frame.
He didn't say a single word. He just stared at Eleanor, his cold, sharp eyes completely devoid of mercy. The artistic, negative-space tattoos on his hands flexed as he maintained his crushing grip on her wrist.
