Chapter 50 - THE DINNER OF VIPERS
The grand dining hall of Ashford Hall looked like a cathedral dedicated to imperial excess. Beneath three tiers of glittering crystal chandeliers sat an eighty-foot mahogany table covered in sterling silver, antique porcelain, and candelabras that cast dancing shadows across the high-vaulted ceiling.
Seated at the head of the table was Lord Sterling Ashford—a sixty-year-old man with slicked silver hair, hollow cheeks, and eyes as cold and predatory as a hawk. To his left sat Lady Beatrice, his sister, dripping in emeralds and draped in heavy silk, holding an antique wine glass with trembling, manicured fingers. Katherine sat quietly at the lower end, her gaze glued to the polished wood.
When the heavy doors swung open and the butler announced my arrival, the silence that fell over the room was absolute.
"Mr. Alexander Vance," the butler declared.
I walked into the room wearing a black tailored three-piece suit, my stride rhythmic, slow, and imposing. Sir Arthur followed two paces behind, carrying a thick leather folio.
Sterling didn't stand. He dabbed the corner of his thin mouth with a linen napkin and offered a thin, mocking smile that reminded me sickeningly of Evelyn’s smirk on Elm Street.
"The American mercenary," Sterling purred, his voice dripping with cultured venom. "We were informed that a vulgar speculator from the former colonies had bought into our secondary shares. Sit down, Mr. Vance. It is not often we allow trade trash to dine beneath our family shields."
I did not sit. I walked straight to the empty chair at the head of the table opposite Sterling, resting both hands on the carved backrest.
"I didn't come to eat your dinner, Sterling," I said, my tone echoing with calm, chilling authority. "I came to collect the rent."
Lady Beatrice scoffed, setting her glass down with an irritable click. "Insolent savage! Arthur, what is the meaning of this charade? Why have you brought this stray into our ancestral hall?"
"He is no stray, Beatrice," Arthur said quietly from the shadows.
I reached inside my coat and pulled out the original black-and-white photograph, flicking it across the eighty-foot expanse. It slid smoothly over the polished mahogany and came to rest directly against Sterling’s silver bread plate.
Sterling glanced down at the image. The arrogant smirk vanished from his face instantly. His skin paled to the color of ash, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked onto the baby with the crescent birthmark.
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"Eleanor..." Beatrice gasped, clutching her pearls. "Dear God in heaven... David had a son?"
"David had an heir," I corrected, unbuttoning my left cuff and rolling back the sleeve to reveal the identical birthmark etched against my skin. "And for thirty years, you’ve been living in his house."
