The silence between them thickened—dense and suffocating, like toxic fog hanging in the air, ready to choke anyone who lingered too long. And Wilhelm Albrecht Von Meier felt every ounce of it pressing down on him, a punishment for the words he'd just spoken.
No one dared breathe. They were all waiting for the Emperor to break the unbearable tension. Even Greta, who kept stealing glances at Hellene, now hunched over, fists clenched around her skirt, trembling.
It was painfully clear: Hellene was crushed by what their father had just said.
While she sat drowning in confusion and shame, Dietrich turned his gaze to Viscount Wilhelm. His expression was unreadable, cold, calculating, like he was studying some rare, unfortunate creature. The faint smile he'd worn earlier had long since vanished.
