“You will regret this,” she whispered to me.

She turned on her heel and marched out of the dining room, her heels clicking furiously on the marble floor.

A moment later, the heavy front doors slammed shut, rattling the glass in the windows.

The dining room remained silent.

Senator Whitmore slowly stood up, smoothing his tie.

He did not look at his daughter’s empty chair; he looked straight at Julian.

“You have made a grave mistake, Mercer,” the Senator said, his voice low and vibrating with menace.

“This dinner is over,” Julian said, not breaking eye contact.

“We need to talk,” the Senator said. “In your study. Now.”

Julian turned his head slightly toward me.

“Margaret,” Julian said. “Take Claire to the kitchen. Clean her up.”

“Yes, Mr. Mercer,” Margaret said, appearing at my side.

She placed a firm, surprisingly warm hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the swinging doors.

My face was still throbbing, my skin hot where Vanessa had struck me.

As the doors swung shut behind us, I heard the Senator’s heavy footsteps following Julian down the hall toward the study.