Chapter 34
[ 525 words ]
Chapter 34:
Harper scurried into the room, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor. She rushed to Cornelia’s side and sank onto the sofa next to her, pulling her knees together and looking at Jarrod with wide, victimized eyes, playing the part of the terrified, abused sister to perfection.
Before Cornelia could launch another verbal attack, a heavy, rhythmic thumping sound echoed from the far side of the room.
The thick oak door leading to the private study opened.
General Augustus Romero stepped out.
He was in his late seventies, but he still moved with the rigid, terrifying posture of a man who had commanded armies. He leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, but his eyes—the exact same stormy gray as Jarrod’s—were sharp, calculating, and completely merciless.
He swept his gaze across the room, the sheer force of his presence silencing everyone.
Jarrod uncrossed his legs and stood up. He offered a single, shallow nod. It was a military acknowledgment of rank, nothing more. It was the only shred of respect he would offer in this house.
Augustus walked slowly to the center of the room. He stopped, lifted his cane, and struck the heavy brass tip against the Persian rug with a dull, authoritative thud.
“Dinner,” Augustus commanded, his voice a gravelly bark.
𝖣𝘰𝘸ո𝗹𝗈𝘢𝗱 P𝗗𝖥𝘴 𝘧𝗿e𝘦 on g𝗮𝗹nоv𝘦𝘭𝘀.𝖼о𝘮
The family moved into the massive dining room in absolute silence.
The long, mahogany dining table could easily seat thirty people, but tonight, it was set for four. The physical distance between the place settings was vast, a perfect, physical manifestation of the emotional wasteland that was this family.
Jarrod took his seat near the middle. The servants moved like ghosts, silently placing plates of intricate, steaming French cuisine in front of them.
Above them, a colossal crystal chandelier cast a harsh, brilliant light over the table. The only sound in the room was the sharp, scraping noise of heavy silver cutlery hitting fine porcelain.
Jarrod didn’t eat. He picked up his heavy silver fork with his left hand. He casually, almost disrespectfully, pushed a piece of seared duck across his plate, subtly shifting his weight in the chair to ease the relentless pressure on his injured shoulder.
Cornelia, sitting across from him, watched his left-handed movements like a hawk. Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the slight stiffness in his right shoulder.
“You are favoring your left side, Jarrod,” Cornelia noted, her voice dripping with a sickly, probing concern. “Did you injure yourself? I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”
Jarrod stopped moving the fork. He slowly raised his head. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and lethal.
“Since when,” Jarrod asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating whisper, “do the classified operations of the Department of Defense fall under the purview of a politician’s housewife?”
Cornelia recoiled as if he had slapped her. Her face flushed a violent, ugly red. She opened her mouth to snap back, but the sheer, suffocating malice in Jarrod’s eyes forced the words back down her throat.
She swallowed hard and turned her head, looking toward the head of the table, silently begging the patriarch to intervene.
Augustus Romero slowly placed his silver knife and fork down on his plate. He picked up a linen napkin and meticulously wiped his mouth.
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