A hush fell over Qiao Manor's ancestral hall as twilight deepened. Dozens of tall candles flickered, their flames dancing against the black marble walls. Portraits of stoic ancestors stared down, witnesses to the ritual Sebastian had meticulously arranged. It was the third anniversary of the plane crash that had claimed Su Yao's life—and, in his mind, baptized Zora Su as an impostor.
Zora stood in the center of the hall, wrists bound by silk ribbons, head bowed under the weight of dozens of expectations. Across from her, Sebastian Qiao surveyed her with an icy calm. His tailored coat hung from broad shoulders, and his eyes glowed in the candlelight.
“Begin," he said, voice echoing in the vaulted room.
A long oak table stood beside Zora, blank sheets of parchment and a quill poised in a
