Chapter 311

The dining room had fallen into a tense, suffocating silence.

Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead, but the air beneath them was cold and heavy, as if a storm were gathering invisibly.

Helen sat at the head of the table, her fingers gripping the armrest tightly. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over Summer—no longer hiding her hostility.

So this was the woman who dared challenge her authority.

For decades, Helen Graham had ruled the Graham Mansion unquestioned. Every decision, every rule, every heir had passed through her hands.

And now—because of this woman—everything was slipping away.

“Fraser,” Helen finally spoke, her voice slow and deliberate, “you’ve really disappointed me.”

Fraser didn’t even look at her.

Instead, he calmly picked up a napkin and wiped his fingers, his movements unhurried, as though he weren’t sitting in the middle of a family power struggle.

“You’ve mistaken something, Grandma,” he said coolly. “I stopped seeking your approval a long time ago.”

Helen’s face darkened.

August seized the moment, adopting the tone of a concerned elder. “Fraser, no one here wants to oppose you. But you must understand—this woman’s background is questionable. Public opinion is unstable. If this marriage goes through, the Graham Group’s reputation—”

Before he could finish, Fraser lifted his gaze.

One look was enough.

August felt as if an icy blade had been pressed against his throat. His voice faltered.

Fraser’s fingers tightened slightly around Summer’s hand beneath the table, grounding her, steady and unyielding.

“Reputation?” Fraser repeated softly. “Do you think the Graham Group was built on gossip?”

He leaned back in his chair, posture relaxed, yet every word carried absolute authority.

“I decide who I marry. I decide who carries my child. And I decide who stays in this house.”

His eyes finally turned to Helen.

“If you believe you still hold that power,” he continued calmly, “then you’re welcome to test it.”

Helen’s chest rose sharply.

She had underestimated him.

She had thought he was still the boy she could scold, pressure, and manipulate.

But sitting before her now was not a grandson—it was the absolute ruler of the Graham Group.

Her nails dug into the armrest.

“This mansion belongs to the Graham family,” Helen said coldly. “Not to you alone.”

Fraser’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.

“And the Graham Group belongs to me.”

That single sentence shattered the last illusion in the room.

The servants stood frozen, heads bowed. Even August and Sharon felt their hearts drop.

Helen stared at Fraser in disbelief.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

Fraser rose from his chair.

The sound of it scraping lightly against the floor echoed like a verdict.

“I already have.”

At his signal, the head butler stepped forward quietly. Behind him, two bodyguards appeared—silent, imposing.

“Escort Madam Helen to the west wing,” Fraser ordered. “She’s tired and needs rest. From now on, she’ll refrain from involving herself in company affairs.”

Helen’s eyes widened.

“You—!”

But the bodyguards had already moved.

For the first time in her life, Helen Graham was powerless.

As she was escorted away, her venomous gaze locked onto Summer—burning with hatred.

Summer met her stare calmly.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

The battle had already been decided.