CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIVE

RICHARD'S POV

The familiar scent of Dad's expensive perfume filled the dining room, but the usual comfort and warmth of the Thorne family dinner was replaced by a heavy, palpable tension that hung in the air like a challenge, making the formal gathering feel strained and uncomfortable.

"Don't tell me," William drawled, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy, "the elusive Mr. Dennis is running fashionably late?"

I shot him a glare over the rim of my glass, taking a slow sip of my scotch. "Patience, dear brother. Some things in life are worth waiting for."

His laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. "You mean like your inheritance? We're still waiting on you to deliver on that one, Richie."

"Enough, both of you," Dad interjected, his voice sharp enough to slice through the tension. He sat at the head of the table, a mahogany throne that perfectly embodied his role as the family patriarch. His gaze settled on me, a mixture of expectation and something unnervingly close to pity in hi