POV Isabelle
The dining room was lit by the chandelier, which sent soft, warm shadows dancing on the mahogany table, while the crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight divided the white linen tablecloth into countless little rainbows.
The scent of my mother's lamb roast with rosemary and garlic wafted through the room, and the clinking of silverware against porcelain was like a metronome to the flow of the surrounding conversation.
I was beside my two siblings and cousin, and Dorian was sitting opposite us. My stepfather. The woman who gave birth to me was Dorian's right-hand lady at the table, and her lips were rarely without the touch of her wine glass. Throughout the evening, she had been quieter than usual, her eyes constantly following the table's movements, to the point of lea
