Chapter 3 - The Compass in the Dust
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Victor looked down at the butcher paper package as if it were covered in grease.
“What is this?” he asked, making no effort to hide his disgust.
“Open it,” I murmured softly. “It belonged to your father.”
Vanessa stepped up beside him, running her manicured nails along his arm. She looked at the brown paper and let out a light, mocking laugh that echoed across the quieted hallway.
“Oh darling,” Vanessa purred, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “Did your mother bring you vintage trash? Should we ask the butler to put it with the donations?”
Victor tore open the paper with aggressive, jerky movements. When the simple wooden box opened, revealing the tarnished brass compass inside, his face contorted in anger.
“A compass?” Victor scoffed, his voice booming across the ballroom. “A cheap, rusty brass compass?”
“It isn't cheap, Victor,” I said, my voice steady despite the prickle of tears behind my eyes. “Your father held that compass every day while he built the foundation of our family. He dreamed of giving you a future. I wanted you to remember where you came from.”
Victor stared at me, his jaw clenching tightly.
Without warning, he hurled the antique compass across the grand foyer.
CRASH!
The heavy brass slammed into the far marble wall, splitting the wooden case apart. The glass cover shattered into dozens of tiny, sparkling shards across the floor.
May you like
Several guests gasped, but no one stepped forward.
“I don't care about where I came from!” Victor spat, stepping directly into my personal space. “I care about where I am! I’m sick of you showing up with your sentimental garbage expecting everyone to worship you!”
