“Do not speak about my daughter,” I repeated, looking her directly in the eyes.

Before I could move, Vanessa’s hand flew through the air.

The crack of her palm against my cheek echoed through the dining room.

My head snapped back, and the silver tray slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly onto the floor.

A sharp, burning pain radiated across my face.

I took a step back, my vision blurring for a second as the heat flared under my skin.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Then, Julian stood up.

He did not rush.

He slowly pushed his chair back and stood to his full height.

The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“Julian,” Senator Whitmore began, his voice hesitant. “Now, let’s not make a scene over a maid—”

Julian raised a hand, and the Senator instantly stopped talking.

Julian walked around the table until he stood between Vanessa and me.

He did not look at me.

He looked down at Vanessa.

“Apologize,” Julian said.

The word was quiet, but it carried the weight of an iron vault closing.