The binding day arrived. Adrian invited half of Belmor Town—nobles, officials, everyone who mattered. The manor was mobbed, gifts piling up in two rooms.
But at the feast, faces fell. The tables held rotten vegetables.
High-ranking wolves, unused to such insult, fumed. A hot-tempered general flipped a table. "Adrian, what's this? You invite us to eat garbage? You mocking us?"
Others chimed in, outraged. Adrian, stunned, stormed to Sylvia. "What is this?"
Sylvia, draped in a dazzling gown, her hair weighed with jewels, stood firm. "This is what the poor eat. What's wrong with one meal like this? Your ancestors were poor once. You're forgetting your roots!"
The general laughed bitterly, smashing the flimsy table. "Lord Adrian, if you bind with her, good luck! Only a fool would think Isa
