My mother straightened instinctively, like she could sense status even before recognizing the man. My father’s smirk faltered, just slightly. Mark, still holding his champagne, squinted like he was trying to place a face he should already know.
Alexander stepped closer, his shoes silent against the stone. He didn’t look at anyone else. Not yet.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Not loud. Not aggressive. But the question cut through the space like a blade.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Not because I couldn’t speak—but because for the first time that night, I didn’t have to defend myself.
Mark laughed again, a little weaker this time. “Nothing serious. Just—some people not knowing how to behave in a place like this.”
Alexander finally turned his head.
And looked at him.
It was subtle. So subtle most people wouldn’t catch it. But I did. I saw the exact moment the balance of power shifted. Mark’s confidence didn’t disappear—it cracked.
“You are?” Alexander asked.
Mark hesitated. Just for a second. “Mark Delaney.”
Alexander nodded slowly, like confirming something already known. “Right.”