In the grand halls of the Armstrong estate, tension brewed like a storm waiting to break.
The heavy tick of the grandfather clock echoed through the hallway, each second a silent reminder of approaching chaos.
Inside one of the lavish sitting rooms, Emelia sat by the window, watching her younger brother Christan pace the floor like a caged beast. He was biting his thumb again—something he only did when deeply agitated.
"Would you stop that? You're going to make it bleed."
Emelia finally snapped, unable to stand the sight any longer.
Christan turned sharply toward her, his eyes narrowed and filled with worry.
"You don't get it, Emelia. Father called Kyle back."
She frowned slightly, though she remained composed.
"So? That doesn't necessarily mean—"
Christan cut her off.
"It only means one thing. He's going to name Kyle the heir."