**TITLE: Pushing the Edge 176**
Margaret’s brow furrowed sharply at his question, the tension in the air palpable.
Being confronted so directly left her visibly uneasy, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in her eyes. Fortunately, Vera, always the diplomat, stepped in with her usual grace. “Zane, what exactly are you implying? Even someone like me, who stands on the outside looking in, can clearly see how well the Windsors treat Elara.”
Just then, a familiar, lazy drawl cut through the air like a knife. “What’s everyone chatting about so lively?” I turned instinctively, knowing who it was before I even saw him.
The reception hall fell into a brief silence, a hush that swept over the crowd like a wave.
In the entire Windsor family, fear of Gavin was a common thread woven through their fabric.
Zane turned to face him, a smile gracing his lips. “We were just discussing how well the Windsors have treated Elara.”
Gavin’s expression remained unchanged, his features a mask of indifference. A faint, mocking smile curled at the corners of his mouth as his gaze lingered on Zane’s hand resting possessively on my shoulder. “Didn’t you already know the answer to that?”
No, not well at all.
Zane had been aware of my situation for what felt like an eternity.
Yet despite the years that had passed, he had never shown any concern for how I was treated here.
His sudden defense of me now felt particularly empty, like a hollow echo in a vast chamber.
I couldn’t discern if Gavin’s words were directed at Zane or if they were meant for Margaret.
All I could see was the discomfort etched on both of their faces, taut and strained.
But Margaret, the old fox, had thicker skin. As long as no one outright tore the script apart, she could maintain the façade that everything was perfectly fine. She gestured towards me.
“Come here, Elara. You tell them. Has the Windsor family treated you well or not?”
In that moment, she couldn’t corner Zane, nor could she hope to pin down Gavin.
So, I became the unwitting target of their scrutiny.
My feet felt rooted to the floor, as if the ground had decided to hold me in place. Just as I was about to find my voice, Gavin’s scornful tone sliced through the air like a blade.
“Enough. This game of hitting someone and forbidding them to cry out in pain… You’ve been playing it since she was five. Aren’t you tired of it yet?”
He dismissed her with a brutal lack of courtesy.
And in that succinct statement, he encapsulated my existence for the past two decades.
No crying out in pain.
Only an unwavering submission kept the punishment from becoming unbearable.


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