"It was Damien's own decision."

Celia's breath caught.

Her fingers, which had been resting idly against her armrest, stilled.

She blinked.

For the first time since this entire conversation had begun, her carefully constructed thoughts faltered.

What?

Victor, too, seemed momentarily thrown off. "What do you mean?" His voice sharpened. "Damien—"

But Dominic didn't give him the chance to finish.

"That is all you need to know."

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Celia was still frozen, her mind looping over those words—Damien's own decision—when Dominic's voice cut through once more.

"And now, while we are at it, let me tell you something else."

There was a pause, deliberate, controlled, as if he were giving them the space to brace for the blow that was coming.

"I will no longer be sponsoring Everwyn Research Center."

Celia felt her father's body tense beside her.

"This deal is over."

Victor inhaled sharply, his knuckles whitening around the phone. "Dominic, wait—"

But Dominic was unmoved.

"I suggest you prepare accordingly, Victor. I imagine things will become… difficult for you moving forward."

And then—

The call ended.

The silence that followed was absolute.

For a long moment, Victor Everwyn didn't move. His phone was still clutched in his hand, but his grip was so tight it looked as if he might shatter the device through sheer force. His entire body radiated tension, his shoulders stiff, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

Then—

The fury came.

He slammed the phone down onto the desk with a force that made Celia flinch, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his breathing harsh, ragged.

Celia had never seen her father like this.

Victor Everwyn was a man of control, a man of calculation. He was not one to react—he anticipated, he planned, he maneuvered.

And yet, right now, he looked as though he were moments away from losing himself entirely.

His research.

Years of effort, of clawing his way up through the world of mana technology, of making demands and pushing boundaries, all under the safety of Elford sponsorship—

Gone.

Just like that.

And for what? Because of Damien Elford?

Victor turned sharply, and for the first time that night, Celia felt something unfamiliar creep up her spine.

His gaze.

Cold. Unforgiving. A predator assessing prey.

"Did something happen, Celia?"

The words weren't loud, nor were they laced with anger in the way she had expected. But something about them sent a chill curling through her chest.

He was looking at her differently.

Not as his daughter.

Not as Celia Everwyn.

But as a problem that needed to be solved.

Celia's breath hitched, her fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt as her father's cold, unrelenting gaze bore into her.

"I… I don't know."

The words stumbled out before she could stop them. A rare falter. Her voice—usually smooth, controlled, effortlessly commanding—wavered.

Victor didn't blink.

"You don't know?" His voice was quiet, but the pressure in it was suffocating. "Are you hiding something from me, Celia?"

Celia swallowed.

Her father had always been an imposing figure, but this was different. This wasn't the composed, strategic man she knew. This wasn't the father who orchestrated deals with the precision of a master tactician.

This was something else.

Something unfamiliar.

And unfamiliarity was dangerous.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't lie. Not like this. Not under this scrutiny.

So, she inhaled sharply, steadying herself as much as she could, and spoke.

"I… I don't know what could have caused this. The only thing that happened today—"

A pause. A hesitation.

Then—

"—was at the club."

Victor's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

Celia exhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully. "I went to the club with my friends. And… I saw Damien there."

That name.

That disgusting name.

She clenched her jaw, irritation flickering through her, though it was quickly overtaken by something else—a deeper unease.

"He was drinking. A woman was all over him. I confronted him. I…"* She hesitated, her voice quieter now. "I slapped him."*

Victor's lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable.

Celia pressed on, determined to explain everything. "He was acting like an idiot, humiliating himself, humiliating me. I told him he was a disappointment. That was all."

Silence.

A silence too heavy, too suffocating.

Victor didn't speak. Didn't react.

He simply stared.

Celia shifted in her seat, the unfamiliarity of this situation crawling under her skin.

"Father…?"

Still, nothing.

Then, slowly, Victor let out a breath.

"So, you're telling me… that you publicly humiliated Damien Elford. In a club. In front of witnesses."

His voice was measured, but Celia could hear the blade hidden beneath it.

She clenched her fists, but she didn't look away. "Yes."*

Victor leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk between them, his knuckles pressing against the wood.

Celia inhaled sharply, forcing herself to think. To push through the weight pressing down on her.

"No… this doesn't make sense."

She shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. "Father, you know this too! The Damien I know—he would never do something like this!"

Victor's glare sharpened, but Celia pressed on.

"That was why I acted that way!"* She gestured vaguely, as if trying to grasp something invisible. "I've done this before. I've humiliated him before—countless times. He's never fought back. He's never even spoken up. He just takes it. Like the pathetic waste of space he is."*

Her voice tightened as her mind raced.

"So why now?"

Why, after all this time, had he suddenly grown a spine?

Victor remained silent, his expression unreadable. But Celia saw the flicker of something in his eyes.

He was thinking the same thing.

Something else must have happened.

Victor's jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist, the veins in his hands pressing against his skin as if restraining something.

Then—

He nodded.

And in a voice low, commanding, absolute, he spoke.

"Do whatever you can."

Celia's breath stilled.

Victor's gaze bore into hers, cold and unwavering. "Will you go to their mansion and demand to meet him? Will you track him down? I don't care."*

He straightened, his expression turning to stone.

"Just make sure to restore this."

Celia sat there for a moment, gripping the arms of her chair, her mind racing.

She had never been given orders like this before.

But there was no room for argument.

She exhaled slowly, standing up, smoothing down the folds of her dress.

Then, with a slow, deliberate nod—

"Fine."