The instant Alexander's fingers brushed against Oliver's, a deafening crash shattered the tense silence. The ceramic mug slipped from Oliver's grasp, exploding against the marble floor in a spray of jagged porcelain.

The entire restaurant froze.

Only Sebastian Kingsley's eyes darkened, an unreadable storm swirling in their depths.

Oliver jolted to life first, his voice cracking as tears spilled down his cheeks. "Liam, I—I didn't mean to! It was an accident, I swear—"

Liam stared at the ruins of his painstakingly crafted gift. The mug he'd spent weeks perfecting in the pottery studio—the one with the delicate hand-painted violets along the rim, his mother's favorite—now lay in irreparable shards.

White-hot fury surged through him.

"You did this on purpose!" Liam's accusation rang out, sharp as broken glass. "You smashed Mom's birthday present because you're jealous!"

Oliver flinched as if struck. His small frame trembled violently. "No! Liam, please believe me—"

Blood suddenly bloomed across Oliver's palm as he reached for a sharp fragment.

"Amy!" Samantha gasped.

Amy Sinclair was already moving, gathering Oliver into her arms with practiced ease. "Sweetheart, don't touch that!"

Oliver buried his face against her shoulder. "I ruined everything... Liam worked so hard on your gift..."

Amy barely glanced at the wreckage. "Birthdays come every year, darling. What matters is you're hurt."

Liam recoiled like she'd slapped him.

Since when did his mother dismiss his gifts? He remembered her scolding Aunt Charlotte for eating a single chocolate he'd given her—"That was from Liam!" she'd snapped, genuinely upset for the first time in memory.

Now his months of effort meant nothing.

"Mom," Liam's voice broke, "he destroyed the mug I made for you! On purpose!"

Amy sighed, pressing a napkin to Oliver's bleeding hand. "Liam, right now Oliver's injury is more important than a broken cup."

The words carved through Liam's chest.

"He's faking!" Liam gestured wildly at Oliver's tear-streaked face. "He always does this! When will you see through his act?"

Amy's gaze turned steely. "The only act I see is yours. When did my sweet boy become so cruel?"

The words struck with eerie familiarity. Liam suddenly remembered another argument, years ago—his father's voice dripping with the same disappointment.

"Amy, why do you always defend the wrong person? When did you become so blind?"

The memory twisted like a knife in Liam's gut.