CLARA’S POV
Her last words made one thing clear: she knew me.
From school?
I stepped closer, studying her face, searching for any trace of familiarity. She looked like she was in her late twenties. She had freckles, pale skin and doe eyes with brown hair. But nothing about her features struck me as familiar.
So who was she?
Regaining my composure, I straightened my shoulders and met her gaze with confidence, forcing a polite smile despite the irritation I felt.
“I see you might know me better than I recall,” I said. “But does that really matter? Does that make this whole affair ridiculous?”
She threw her head back with a dramatic roll of her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Do you know what I told my maid when she came running to me yesterday, saying, ‘Luna Valerie, you’ve received
