“Ryan Walker!” Mr. McCarthy’s voice bellowed, drawing every eye back to him. “Don’t get carried away by one mistake. Do not fool yourself into thinking this street or this city belongs to you.” He jabbed a finger toward Ryan, his voice was filled with anger. “Mark my words, the next powerful guest that arrives… he will be ours. He will walk into Darell Wedding Hall and not even spare you a glance.”The reporters gasped at his boldness, scribbling notes furiously. Cameras turned, zooming in to capture the conversation.Mrs. McCarthy immediately stepped up beside her husband, her chin raised high, as she spoke with her sharp voice. “Yes! Do not think your luck can carry you twice. The McCarthy family is known for connections that stretch far and wide, and today is the day the world will see it.” She glanced proudly at the cameras. “The next guest, I assure you, will show the truth.”Ryan, however, did not give a thought to them. His calm demeanor only made the McCarthys’ arrogance loo

The music that had been filling Darell Wedding Hall with laughter and rhythm suddenly stopped mid-beat, the instruments silenced as though the band themselves felt the shift in the room.The man who had stood from his chair, tall and dignified in his suit, repeated himself clearly so that no one could mistake his words. His voice boomed across the lavish hall, echoing.“I asked again,” he said slowly. “What are we really doing here? Tell me, what exactly are we gathered here for?”Elizabeth froze in the middle of the dance floor, her hand still resting on Julian’s arm. The smile that had been glued to her face began to falter.Julian shifted uncomfortably, blinking rapidly as though he hadn’t heard the man correctly. Guests exchanged puzzled looks, some whispering, others leaning forward in curiosity.Mr. McCarthy, clearly flustered but unwilling to let anyone see him sweat, cleared his throat loudly and took a step toward the man. He forced out a deep laugh, though it sounded straine

The McCarthy mansion was shrouded in silence the next morning.Mr. McCarthy sat stiffly in the armchair at the far end of the living room, his shoulders hunched, his fingers drumming endlessly against the armrest. His suit jacket was open, his tie loose, his face pale but burning with suppressed rage. He looked like a man who had aged ten years overnight.Mrs. McCarthy sat across from him on the sofa, her hands wrung tightly in her lap, her eyes puffy from a sleepless night. She hadn’t spoken much since morning, and every time her husband’s pacing footsteps echoed in the room, her body flinched slightly.Above them, in the quiet of her room, Elizabeth sulked like a wounded animal. She had locked herself in since dawn, refusing food, refusing comfort, and most of all refusing to face anyone.Finally, after another turn across the room, Mr. McCarthy said in a voice filled with anger.“This cannot go on. Do you hear me? It cannot!” he thundered, pointing toward the ceiling as though gest