The grand dining hall felt colder than the night outside, despite the lingering warmth from the recently extinguished candles on the long oak table.
Bella remained seated in the high-backed chair, her body rigid as the weight of the elders’ stares pinned her in place. The open folder in front of her—Chen’s latest report with her name marked in stark red ink—mocked her silently.
Damien stood partially in front of her, his tall, powerful frame a shield that felt both protective and suffocating.
Serena Whitewood stepped further into the room, her elegant gown whispering against the marble floor. The ancestral moonstone collar gleamed on her wrist like a trophy of victory. Her hand rested delicately over her claimed pregnancy, eyes wide with calculated concern.
“Damien… what is happenin
