Alexander did not ask what had happened. He did not seek an explanation or offer a diplomatic warning. The burning, red handprint on his mother’s pale cheek was the only testimony he needed, and the punishment he was about to deliver would be absolute.

Victoria, still holding her arrogant posture, opened her mouth, perhaps to demand an apology from the master of the house as well. She never got the chance.

Without a single second of hesitation, Alexander swung his right hand. The retaliatory slap was deafening—a sharp, concussive crack that echoed off the vaulted ceilings and silenced the entire ballroom instantly. The sheer, unyielding force of the blow sent Victoria stumbling violently backward. Her heels slipped on the polished floor, and she barely managed to stay upright. She clamped a hand over her own cheek, her dark eyes blown wide in a mixture of absolute shock, physical agony, and the sudden, terrifying realization that she had just attacked the mother of the most powerful man in the room. A bright red mark immediately bloomed across her pristine, powdered skin.