Root cause

Clinton stared at his mother, momentarily stunned by her venomous outburst.

A crimson stain bloomed on Lydia's calf where a shard of porcelain had pierced her skin. The servants, their faces etched with concern, scurried around her, their frantic whispers a stark contrast to the chilling silence that had descended upon the room.

''Mother, what is wrong with you?" Clinton's voice shook with a mixture of anger and exasperation. "Sahara is lying unconscious, fighting for her life. How can you carry on with such vitriol at a time like this? Over what - some ancient grudge against Monique?"

"Mom, your actions are not making sense," Clinton pleaded. "Whatever altercation you had with Monique happened years ago. You've lived in relative harmony all this time. Why dredge up that ugly past now? Especially at a time like this when Sahara needs us unified?"