Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 459

The other occupants of the billiards room exchanged highly alarmed glances.

Wyatt instinctively backed up a step, while Silas simply leaned against the edge of the pool table, calmly folding his arms over his chest.

Silas's gaze darted between Tristan and Quentin, a highly amused, theatrical smirk dancing on the corner of his lips.

Quentin's face darkened into an icy scowl. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No idea?" Tristan lunged forward, violently grabbing Quentin by the collar of his dress shirt. "My sister is pregnant, and she claims the bastard belongs to you!"

The horrific accusation detonated inside the billiards room like a catastrophic bomb.

Wyatt sharply sucked in a breath of cold air, nearly fumbling his pool cue.

He was actually much tighter with Tristan than he was with Quentin, so he knew precisely how unfathomably powerful the York family truly was.

Out of the entire York bloodline, Tristan was arguably the only one who didn't flaunt an unbearable, god-complex superiority—most likely because he possessed a much higher baseline of basic human decency.

The rest of them were ruthless titans capable of sending shockwaves through Empire City. They were unequivocally not to be trifled with.

And Penelope was the outrageously pampered, untouchable, one and only princess of the York dynasty.

Had Quentin never crossed paths with her, he would have been perfectly fine. But now that he was tangled in this nightmare, walking away completely unscathed was going to be violently difficult.

Silas's eyes narrowed slightly into predatory slits. He gently tapped his chin with two fingers, clearly calculating his next highly manipulative move.

Quentin's expression drastically shifted in a terrifying instant.

It wasn't guilt. It wasn't panic. It was an absolute, sub-zero aura of lethal ice.

He reached up, clamping an unshakable grip over Tristan's wrist, and ruthlessly peeled the man's fingers off his collar. The movement didn't rely on explosive force, but it carried an authoritative, utterly undeniable dominance.

"Penelope is pregnant?" Quentin's voice was horrifyingly calm. "And exactly what the hell does her pregnancy have to do with me?"

"Cut the damn act!" Tristan's eyes were practically bleeding scarlet, the massive veins in his forehead violently bulging against his skin.