They both ditched their restrictive business suits today, opting for matching cashmere coats.

Evangeline Montgomery stood with him in front of the mirror, studying their reflection before giving an approving nod. "Perfect. We look like a power couple."

Marcellus Alexander wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head as he smiled at the sweet image in the glass. "Truly a match made in heaven." He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair and took her hand. "Let’s go."

The Alexander family manor was already buzzing with guests. Marcellus’s second and third uncles had arrived with their wives for the annual New Year’s Eve dinner.

"Honestly, Dad," one uncle sneered, "it’s New Year's Eve and the eldest son hasn’t even shown his face. It’s disgraceful."

"Second brother, it’s a holiday. Don’t bring up such toxic topics and ruin Father’s mood," the third uncle chimed in, though his smirk betrayed his intent.

"I’m just concerned about him! Who knows how he’s even spending the year all by himself?"

"Exactly. What kind of grudge could he possibly hold against his own family to refuse a visit on New Year’s?"

The two uncles sang in perfect, manipulative harmony, their barbs making the elder’s face darken with rage.

"If you two can’t keep your mouths shut, then get out!" the patriarch roared, his voice trembling with fury.

"Dad, don’t get so worked up. It’s bad for your health," the second uncle said, leaning back on the sofa with a wicked grin, calmly sipping his tea.

"Second Uncle."

The cold, lethal command cut through the room. The second uncle, Malcolm, dropped his teacup and straightened his posture immediately. He offered an awkward, stammering greeting. "Ah, Marcellus. You’re back."

Marcellus ignored him entirely, turning his focus toward the head of the table. "Grandfather, we’re here."

The patriarch’s face softened instantly. "Marcellus, Evangeline, come sit by me."

Malcolm’s wife, Fiona, feigned warmth as she turned to Evangeline. "Oh, so this is Marcellus’s wife? She’s certainly a looker."

Evangeline glanced at the man beside her. Seeing that Marcellus had no intention of introducing them, she understood his stance perfectly. She offered a polite, distant nod to Fiona and stayed silent. Fiona’s jaw tightened, her forced smile crumbling as she retreated to her seat.

Beside her, the third aunt, Lorelei, stepped in with a frantic, awkward attempt at damage control. "Niece-in-law, I’m your third aunt, this is your third uncle, those are your second uncle and aunt, and over there is—"

After the circle of introductions, Evangeline looked at them with a cool smile. "Nice to meet you all. I’m Evangeline Montgomery, Marcellus’s wife."

Marcellus pulled her into the seat beside him.

"Marcellus," the third uncle piped up, "you’ve been married for ages now. When are you planning on holding the wedding?"

Marcellus raised an eyebrow, his tone glacial. "Do you have so much free time that you’ve started managing my life, Third Uncle?"

"Look at this boy," Lorelei quickly interjected. "Your uncle is just concerned. Why the sharp tongue?" She then turned to Evangeline. "I heard you’re running a small company, Evangeline. Honestly, a woman should avoid being in the limelight so much. Giving birth to an heir is the only thing that truly matters!"

Evangeline felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat, though she was furious. *What a bizarre, toxic family. No wonder Marcellus turned out so cold—if I lived here, I’d be insane, too!*

The patriarch slammed his hand down. "Enough! Mind your own business!"

"Who’s upsetting the patriarch now?"

A woman’s voice rang out from the entrance. The room filled with expressions of disdain as Greta Palmer entered, followed by Benedict Alexander, who offered a brief nod to the patriarch.

"Grandfather."

"Benedict," the patriarch sighed. "Your features are growing more like your brother’s every day."

Fiona scoffed, "Looking like him is one thing, but he doesn't have his luck."

"Get out if you’re going to keep spewing that bile!" The patriarch pounded his cane against the floor, the exertion triggering a fit of harsh, rattling coughs. The butler rushed over to steady him.

"Grandfather, don’t be angry," Marcellus said, his voice dropping an octave. "Dogs that don't bite are the ones that bark the loudest."

"Marcellus, you!" Fiona gripped Malcolm’s hand, shaking her head to keep him from lashing out.

The Alexander family was a massive, sprawling mess of competing interests. Without Marcellus’s iron-fisted rule, the entire house would have crumbled long ago.

"From now on, the next person to utter a single word will regret it," Marcellus warned. The room fell into a terrified, suffocating silence.

At the dinner table, they kept up a facade of harmony, eating and drinking as if they were a loving family. Greta kept casting subtle, coded glances at a server nearby. The servant, receiving the signal, began pouring drinks for everyone with calculated precision.

Benedict stared at the glass in front of him for a long moment before downing it in one go.

The excruciating dinner finally ended. The patriarch, finished with the petty digs of his relatives, stood up and summoned Marcellus. "Come to the study. We need to talk."

Evangeline squeezed Marcellus’s hand. "I’ll wait here. Go on."

By now, Benedict was struggling. Beads of sweat were erupting on his forehead, and he stumbled toward the adjacent lounge, trying to hide his distress. Evangeline, cornered by relatives asking invasive questions, felt a migraine building. Just then, a servant approached her.

"Madam, the young master says he needs to discuss something important with you in the lounge."

"Benedict?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Evangeline frowned, sensing something off. She hesitated at the lounge door for a moment, her instincts screaming, but after a quick tap on her phone, she gripped the handle.

"Get out!"

The moment she stepped inside, a guttural, strained roar hit her. Benedict was slumped against the wall, his face flushed a violent, alarming crimson, sweat soaking his clothes.

Evangeline wasn't a fool. She realized the situation instantly. She spun around to leave, but the door clicked shut—it had been locked from the outside.

"Benedict, are you okay?" she asked, leaning against the door for safety.

Benedict forced himself to maintain some shred of control. "Evangeline... get back. I don't want to hurt you."

His eyes darted around the room, settling on a porcelain vase. With a trembling hand, he snatched it up and smashed it against the floor. Without a flicker of hesitation, he plunged a jagged, broken shard into his own thigh.

"No!" Evangeline screamed.

"Benedict! I’m calling for help, just hang on!" She fumbled for her phone, but the screen remained dead. She was on the verge of tears. "Why isn't it working? There’s no signal!"

"They must have installed a jammer..."

"Don’t be afraid, I’ll get us out!" Evangeline grabbed a heavy stool and started slamming it against the door lock. Again and again, she struck it until her arms burned and she reached the point of total exhaustion.

Suddenly, the door swung open from the outside.

Evangeline lunged, grabbing the newcomer’s hand. "Quick! Save him! He’s losing so much blood!"

"Get a doctor!" Marcellus roared at the servant behind him, his eyes scanning Evangeline with frantic intensity. "Are you hurt?"

Evangeline collapsed into his chest, her hands shaking. "I'm fine... I'm fine."

The doctor arrived within seconds, administering a sedative. "The wound on his leg is manageable, but the effects of the drug... he’ll need constant observation."

Marcellus ordered, "Get him to the guest room!"

"Yes, sir!"

Once Benedict was carried away, Marcellus turned his lethal gaze toward the silent, trembling crowd. "Nobody leaves this room."

Greta, who had been trying to slink away, was dragged back by the security team and unceremoniously dumped at Marcellus’s feet. The servant who had lured Evangeline into the room was already on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Young master, it was... it was the Madam! She made me do it!"

Greta lunged forward, grabbing the servant’s hair, her voice shrieking like a ghost’s. "You bitch! After all I’ve done for you, you betray me?"

"Help me, young master, please!" the servant wailed, clawing at Marcellus’s trousers.

Marcellus idly spun the ring on his finger, his expression chillingly detached. "Was it just the two of you, or was there anyone else?"

The relatives scurried backward, hands raised in frantic protest. "We had nothing to do with this!"

"Greta," Marcellus drawled, a mocking, serpentine smile curling his lips. "You’re using such bottom-of-the-barrel tactics on your own son?"

"It’s your fault! You stole everything from him!" Greta hissed, her eyes wild. "Evangeline and Benedict were childhood sweethearts. You were the one who forced your way in!"

"Oh? And you think Benedict is that stupid?"

Marcellus leaned down, his laughter ringing out through the hall—sharp, hollow, and terrifying. The crowd shivered, paralyzed by the sound. Just as abruptly as it began, the laughter stopped. His face turned into a mask of ice.

"Don't go anywhere," he said softly, his voice dripping with malice. "The grand finale tomorrow—mother against son—is going to be a show you won’t want to miss."

He pulled Evangeline into his arms and, under the horrified gaze of the entire family, walked upstairs.