Mark didn't budge. His fingers tightened on Hector's wrist just enough to make the man wince and stop pretending. "Are you that naive? Or are you ready to finally sell your own daughter for money?"
Their mother froze. The air at the table turned razor-sharp.
"What did you just say to me?" she hissed, her voice low but full of venom.
Mark didn't flinch. "You heard me."
Her face twisted with wounded outrage, but it was all performance. "How dare you accuse me of something so disgusting? I raised you. I sacrificed everything—"
"You sacrificed nothing," Mark cut her off, his voice icy. "You ran off to Bali while Kate was in the ICU. You didn't even call."
Her wine glass trembled in her grip. "Don't you dare guilt me—"
"I'm not guilting you," he said flatly. "I'm done with you."
Hector, sensing the rising storm, stood and tried to speak. "Okay, I think we're all being a bit dramatic here. Maybe we need to all sit down, breathe, and—"
