Sir Victor raised an eyebrow, but Oliver continued before anyone could interrupt.
"Father... with all due respect, that’s ridiculous. You’re talking about Cora here. A woman who values self-respect. A woman who’s been through enough. And you want to convince her to be with Williams? The sa Williams who jumps from one woman to the next without thinking twice? The sa Williams whose reputation alone could send Cora running in the opposite direction?"
Williams frowned but stayed quiet.
Oliver didn’t stop. "Let’s not pretend here. Cora knows Williams. She knows him too well. That’s why she’d never consider him, even for a second. Do you rember when she visited our house that first ti?"
Sir Victor stayed silent.
Oliver pointed at his brother. "Williams was there. Right there. He didn’t waste ti. He actually offered himself to Cora—told her he’d be loyal and all that nonsense. And what did she do? She turned him down on the spot. No delay. No second thought. Just no. Instantly."
He turned to Williams, staring him down. "Did you even tell Father about that? Or were you too embarrassed to admit you got rejected faster than you could finish your sentence?"
Williams shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn’t like that—"
Oliver cut in, "It was like that. You know it. She didn’t even look back at you. You couldn’t change her mind then, and nothing about you has changed now."
Sir Victor’s jaw tensed. His frustration was bubbling again, but before he could speak, Oliver continued, this ti with more restraint.
"Look... I understand that you want Cora to be part of this family. I get it. She’s strong, smart, respected. And yes, she’s been close to for years. But that’s exactly why I know this won’t work."
Sir Victor narrowed his eyes. "Even if it’s not working with Williams, you could still convince her. That’s why we’re talking to you. You’re the one she listens to. If you tell her that your brother is serious... that he’s ready to change his disgusting lifestyle and actually commit, she might at least think about it."
Oliver let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Convince her? Convince her to do what—settle for soone she already rejected? Settle for soone she doesn’t respect?"
Sir Victor’s voice rose slightly, "That’s the problem with you, Oliver! You never think about the bigger picture. This isn’t just about your feelings or hers. It’s about the family. It’s about what Cora can bring to this house—her image, her strength, her loyalty."
"She’s not a trophy," Oliver muttered.
"She’s an opportunity," Sir Victor replied, firm and unwavering. "And we won’t get another like her."
Williams leaned forward, finally speaking again. "Just talk to her, Oliver. Please. You’re the only one she’ll listen to."
At that mont, Oliver wouldn’t just shake his head—he’d exhale sharply, as if trying to keep his frustration from boiling over. He leaned forward slightly and looked his father straight in the eye, his tone calm but firm.
"Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Father," he said. "But Cora isn’t one of those ladies who can be persuaded with soft words and empty promises. You think because I talk to her, I can just walk up to her and sell her an idea I don’t even believe in? You think I should hand her over like so product—like I’m selling her sothing I know damn well isn’t even good for consumption—just because our family is the manufacturer?"
His voice was steady but carried a biting weight. "I won’t do it. I respect her too much. If you really want Cora for Williams, then let him do the chasing. Let him earn her attention. Don’t bring into it. Cancel out of this."
At that mont for a few seconds, the room went silent.
Then, with a sharp motion, Williams shoved his chair back and stood up, his face contorted with anger. "How dare you?" he barked, pointing at Oliver. "How dare you talk to like that?"
Oliver remained seated, unshaken.
"What the hell has gotten into you, Oliver? Just because Father asked for a favor and your na’s been thrown around a bit, you think you’re a top dog now? You think you’re better than ?"
Oliver didn’t say a word, just looked at him.
Williams went on, his voice rising. "You’re still my little brother. Never forget that. And you’re supposed to give the respect I deserve. Not this arrogance—this foolishness you’re showing here. I won’t tolerate it. Not from you, not from anyone."
Sir Victor’s face hardened. He slamd his palm on the table, causing the room to go still.
"That’s enough," he growled.
Williams turned to him, startled.
"Sit. Down," Sir Victor commanded, his voice sharp and final.
And imdiately, seeing the cold, thunderous look on his father’s face—Williams obeyed. He sat down without another word.
At that mont, Oliver’s father narrowed his eyes and faced him squarely, the weight of his words drawing the air tighter in the room.
"So since you are so confident," Sir Victor began, his voice slow and deliberate, "that your brother is not fit for Cora... then maybe you’re right. Maybe Williams really has damaged the system of this family—always chasing skirts, always bringing scandal. He didn’t even control himself when Cora used to visit. So why would anyone, especially a woman like Cora, take him seriously?"
For a mont, the tension thickened. Williams was quietly fuming in his seat, gripping his wine glass tighter. But Sir Victor continued, lowering his voice now, steady but pointed.
"But that does not give you the right to speak that way about your brother in front of ," he said sternly. "Williams is my son too. And yes, he’s made mistakes. But humanizing, or whatever you want to call it, is sothing that can be stopped—and he has stopped. He has assured personally, and I choose to believe him."
Sir Victor leaned forward on the table, clasping his hands together with conviction.
"So now, it is left for you, Oliver—to help your brother. No, help this family. We’re not asking for much. Just do your part, like every other son in this house."
Oliver let out a tired breath, his gaze unwavering as he replied, "Like I said before, Father... I’m sorry. I can’t help you."
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