The heavy oak door of the study clicked shut behind Evelyn, the sound echoing like the lock of a prison cell.
The room smelled of stale brandy, warm wax, and the quiet, suffocating arrogance of two men who truly believed they had cornered a lioness in her own den.
Julian sat behind her father’s mahogany desk with his legs crossed, the forged order of mental incapacity resting beneath his palm like a prize of war. Beside him, Caspian’s dark eyes gleamed with a cruel, satisfied glint. They looked at her as though she were already a prisoner—a helpless girl about to be stripped of her name, her wealth, and her freedom.
"You look surprisingly unbothered, Evelyn," Julian remarked smoothly, swirling the remaining amber liquor in his glass. "Perhaps the shock hasn't set in yet. Let me make the
