The young heirs could tell instantly that the situation was growing more intense. Even though they were used to rivalry and whispers, direct confrontation of this kind was rare. For most of them, danger was always kept at a distance. If anything ever threatened to boil over, their security teams would handle it long before it reached their ears.
That was the way of the Stern household, conflict hidden behind velvet curtains.
The last time they had seen anything remotely close to this was when Chad and Max clashed during the previous gathering, and even that petty spat had been considered a scandal. Now, however, the atmosphere in the hall was heavy, teetering on the edge of something far larger. The heirs, young as they were, had enough sense to stay out of it. It was easier, safer, to watch and remain uninvolved.
All of them, except for one.
Chad Stern.
He had slunk away to the corner of the grand hall, piling his plate with appetizers. The silver trays and fine dishes were lined with delicacies, small cuts of meat, spiced seafood bites, and expensive cheeses flown in from abroad. Chad was already on his second glass of champagne, the bubbles fizzing against his lips as he took greedy sips.
He had been yearning for food and drink like this. Though once it had been normal, now it felt like stolen treasure. Ever since his life had turned upside down, indulgence had become rare. He didn't know when he would next taste such finery, and so he shoved it down without shame.
As he chewed, his eyes darted back to Max and Donto, locked in their stand-off. His thoughts twisted.
If Donto and Max go at it… he smirked inwardly. I'd love to see Donto tear him apart, piece by piece. Beat him into the floor until there's nothing left of that smug face.
But then another thought intruded, cold and practical. Wait. If Max falls… what happens to me? Right now, the only reason I'm not being eaten alive by the Black Hounds is because I'm under the Bloodline Group's shadow. They've kept the hounds at bay, whether by power or by fear. If Max is gone, the Bloodline collapses. Then what? I've got no money, no allies, and I know for sure none of these fools in this hall will lift a finger to help me.
The conflict burned inside him. He wanted to hate Max, to see him destroyed, but slowly, just as Max had intended, Chad was realizing the truth. The only person who could help him now… was the one he had tried to betray, to steal from, to ruin.
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. That was when the doors swung open.
A wave of footsteps entered, accompanied by laughter and careless chatter. The atmosphere shifted in an instant as the older heirs arrived. They had clearly come together, like a single convoy of power walking into the hall.
Randy Stern appeared first, the eldest of the male heirs, his presence alone demanding silence. Beside him walked Marsha Stern, adorned in her usual extravagance. Large rings glittered on her fingers, each one a statement of wealth. Her formal dress was tailored perfectly, her hair styled immaculately, as though she were arriving at a gala instead of a family gathering.
Behind them came Dave Stern, sweat trickling down his round face. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, though the building's air was perfectly cooled. His constant perspiration was as much a habit as a sign of nerves.
And finally, Karen Stern, the woman in oversized oval sunglasses despite the fact that it was night and they were indoors. Her eccentricity was infamous, as was her sharp tongue. She was the mother of both Bobo and Chad, her presence always drawing mixed feelings from the others.
Their laughter and conversation died instantly as they entered. The mood in the hall struck them hard: the smashed vase on the floor, the hostile postures, and nearly every eye turned toward Max.
Marsha's gasp pierced the silence. "Oh no!" she cried, rushing forward.
Everyone expected her to rush toward her son, or perhaps to Donto. Instead, she dropped to her knees beside the shattered porcelain on the floor.
"This, this is one of Father's precious vases!" she exclaimed dramatically, pointing at the fragments. "It was gifted to him by Mother herself!"
The words carried heavy weight. Max knew enough of Stern history to understand. Dennis had married twice. Both wives were long gone. The second, related by blood to Max's own mother, had been his final companion. He had never remarried after her death. That vase was not just decoration, it was a relic of memory, an untouchable treasure.
"What happened here?" Marsha demanded, her voice shrill. "Who was careless enough to let something so precious be destroyed?"
Bobo wasted no time. "Who do you think?" she sneered. "It was the idiot, Max, him and his stupid bodyguard. Max started mouthing off to Donto, and when Donto stepped forward to talk, Max ordered Aron to push him. He stumbled, hit the vase, and smashed it. It's all Max's fault."
Her words were daggers. Twisted details, exaggerated accusations, but enough to paint Max as reckless and disrespectful.
Max clenched his teeth. He had expected them to blame him, but the audacity of inventing details made his blood boil.
"You… you… you fool!" Marsha shrieked, her voice rising. She was about to unleash further venom when the doors opened again.
A hush fell instantly.
Dennis Stern entered.
Dressed in a grey suit with a crisp white shirt, he leaned lightly on a cane, his presence as commanding as ever. Fred walked dutifully at his side. Every person in the hall, from the heirs to the servants, lowered their heads in immediate respect.
"What is all this noise?" Dennis asked, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Can we not have a single gathering without shouting?"
He stepped forward, eyes sweeping the hall. When they landed on the smashed vase, his expression hardened.
"What happened?" he asked, the words cutting through the silence.
Marsha lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming as she gestured toward her daughter. "Bobo, tell him. Tell him exactly what you told me."
Bobo hesitated for a heartbeat, then repeated her accusation. Her voice shook faintly, but she pressed on, painting Max as the reckless instigator.
When she finished, silence reigned.
Dennis turned, his eyes sharp. "So there were others in the room. Donto, is what Bobo says true?"
"Yes, Grandfather," Donto replied smoothly, bowing his head. "I only wished to congratulate Max on his graduation, but he seemed… unsettled. He ordered his guard to act against me."
Dennis' eyes shifted. "Cici. What did you see?"
Cici's voice was calm. "I was a bit too far to hear every word. But it is true that Aron pushed Donto."
Max's chest tightened. This was dangerous. If the blame fell entirely on Aron, consequences could spiral. His bodyguard, his ally, could be stripped from him.
He stepped forward. "There are always two sides to a story," he said firmly. "Why do the words of those who've always hated me hold more weight than mine?"
Gasps rippled. For Max to speak like that, directly, in Dennis' presence, was shocking. He had never shown such boldness before.
Donto smirked. "Max, you might hate me, but not everyone here does. Everyone saw what happened. Chad, you saw it too, didn't you? You heard it. You saw everything."
All eyes swiveled toward Chad.
He froze, champagne glass halfway to his lips. Sweat prickled down his neck. His mind raced. For a moment he thought of siding with Donto, of joining the chorus against Max. But then he saw the truth in his own reflection. He had no allies here. No one would save him if Max fell.
He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and forced the words out.
"Yeah," Chad said. His voice wavered, but it carried. "I saw everything. I saw how you put your hands on Max first."