Olivia lowered her gaze, unable to hold the weight of his indifference. Her breath lodged somewhere tight in her chest. The room felt too open, too bright, as though the morning sun itself bore witness to her shame.
She took the seat opposite him with careful steps, her hands trembling only once before she forced them still. The chair’s quiet scrape felt louder than it should have, a small admission that she did not belong in this world of effortless calm and carved elegance.
Liza placed a plate before her with a graceful, economical motion. There was no pointed stare, no raised brow. Only a quiet precision in the way she set the utensils beside the plate, a smoothness that hinted at discipline rather than judgment. Yet Olivia felt the faint pressure of awareness in the room, subtle as a
