47
Emilia’s POV
I had gotten used to sorting through the endless parade of correspondence addressed to Alaric and his associates—party invitations, business proposals, invoices from expensive vendors. Since everyone was busy with Alaric’s party preparations, I had decided to do it today again.
I sat in the living room, sorting all of them out. Most of them were glossy pamphlets and bills.
There was a plain white envelope I was about to toss to another side but paused, turning the envelope around. There was no return address, just my name written on the front in thin, spidery handwriting.
My name. Not Alaric’s. Not Francesca’s. Mine.
I should’ve ignored it. I should’ve set it aside with the rest of the envelopes for the staff to sort through. But something made me pause. Maybe it was
