Violet
The morning sun filtered through the crystal windows of Ironcrest's breakfast room, casting prismatic patterns across the elaborate spread.
I'd barely slept, my mind still churning over last night's conversation with Dane and the evidence I'd sent him about Nate. But sitting here at this table, surrounded by the elegant formality of Deveraux women, I had to wear a mask of composure.
"The florist assured me they could source peonies in December," Nicole was saying, her voice awfully bright. She held up her phone, scrolling through what had to be the hundredth photo of wedding arrangements. "Imported from New Zealand, of course. Only the freshest will do."
Lady Aurelia sat at the head of the table, her posture impeccable despite the slight tremor in her hands as she lifted her tea
