Adrian’s eyes flickered impatiently when Emilia didn’t seem to bulge.
"It’s a beautiful performance, Dante. Truly," Adrian said again this time looking at Dante briefly/, his voice carrying the practiced resonance of a man used to boardroom oratory. He gestured vaguely at the shimmering hall. "But performance is all it is. Anyone can rent a stage if they know whose coattails to tug on. Tell me, Emilia—does a life built on borrowed influence feel sturdy to you? Do you want a husband who has to beg for favors and hide behind a teenager’s school connections just to prove he belongs in the same room as us?"
He didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he reached into his breast pocket and produced a velvet case, snapping it open with a clinical click. Inside, nestled against black silk, lay a ri
