Alistair's face turned to stone. He remained rigidly silent.
But the hand holding his teacup gave a violent tremor, splashing scalding liquid over his skin.
He slammed the cup onto the table, quickly snatching up napkins to wipe away the burning liquid.
Pierce immediately noticed. "What's wrong?"
"I'm old and getting Parkinson's," Alistair snapped bitterly. "Are you happy now?"
Pierce didn't reply.
Years ago, his war with his grandfather over Seraphina had been vicious. During one particular fight, Alistair had turned ash-gray, trembling so violently he nearly suffered a fatal heart attack.
Pierce had always carried a deep sense of guilt over that day.
But guilt aside, his grandfather had crossed an unforgivable line.
Alistair had secretly hired mercenaries to abduct Seraphina. If Pierce hadn't tracked them down just in time, she would have been thrown on a private jet and exiled to Southeast Asia.
His grandfather's enforcers claimed Alistair only wanted to stash her on a remote island with a security detail. He wanted Pierce to think she had abandoned him, hoping the heartbreak would force him to move on.
But Southeast Asia was dangerous. What if something had gone wrong?
Pierce didn't distrust his grandfather's intentions, but he absolutely refused to gamble with Seraphina's life.
That incident had shattered their relationship, plunging it into an ice age they had never fully recovered from.
It was only right before the wedding, when Alistair saw that Pierce would literally burn the world down before letting Seraphina go, that he finally surrendered—under the strict condition that they produce an heir immediately.
Pierce had honestly believed the wedding was the beginning of his happily ever after. Instead, it was the start of an unrelenting nightmare.

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