Ariana cried herself to sleep that night.
She curled herself into a ball on her queen-sized bed, her chest aching as memories of the just-concluded dinner replayed mercilessly in her head. The ache doubled whenever she remembered the disappointment in Harold’s eyes. It got even worse when she remembered Vincent’s cold attitude and how he didn’t believe her or side with her.
Her tears soaked the pillow, but she did not stop them.
“Cry now,” she whispered to herself in the darkness. “Cry all you want.”
Her voice broke. “Because tomorrow, you won’t be able to.”
She wiped her face roughly, anger mixing with the sadness. By morning, she had to be strong. She had to think clearly. She had to prove her innocence, not just to Harold or the Blackthorn family, but to Vincent.
Especially to Vin
