Ink slowly lifted his glass, the crystal catching the chandelier’s warm light as it shimmered softly across the dining table, his composed, authoritative presence reflecting quiet command.
“Let us all raise a toast,” Ink said calmly, his voice smooth yet resonant enough to settle over the table like gentle authority.
They followed, lifting their glasses in synchronized grace, the soft clinking of crystal almost musical beneath the grand silence of the estate.
His gaze then shifted toward Guinvenere Adams, seated beside the others with quiet elegance.
“Today is a pleasant gathering,” Ink continued. “And I must say, Guinvenere has grown into a lady of remarkable grace. She carries herself with the refinement of someone who understands both strength and gentleness.”
A faint, proud smile
