"You dare?!"
Flick Fayjoy barked, his voice sharp with outrage. "Who are you to throw insults at my son?!"
Lady Margan's glare was filled with unrestrained fury.
"I am the mother of a dead son," she spat. "Unlike you, who has more bastard children than you can count, I had but one. His death is an irreplaceable loss!"
She pointed a finger at him, her expression filled with mockery.
"Not that someone like you would understand!"
It wasn't long before any semblance of decorum crumbled, and they began hurling insults at one another.
Fallan Tatarstan's fists clenched, his aura surging with restrained aggression as he glowered at Flick.
Media Bonaire shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her expression tight as she observed the growing hostility in the room.
Lady Garnier, on the other hand, simply sighed—but her tightly clenched fists betrayed her true emotions.
"What a ruckus we are causing..." she muttered.
And then—