Mirellie
I lowered my gaze immediately, blinking hard against the tears beginning to burn behind my eyes. My fingers tightened shakily beneath the table as I fought to keep my expression steady.
Don’t cry. Gods, please don’t cry here. Not in front of them.
The room still smelled of expensive coffee, warm bread and buttered pastries, but my stomach churned too violently for any of it to seem appealing anymore. Every sound around the table felt sharper now. Louder. The soft clink of silverware, the low chuckles, the rustle of expensive clothing shifting against leather chairs.
I could feel all of them looking at me even when I kept my eyes lowered. Waiting for another mistake and another reason to laugh.
“You’re holding the fork wrong again,” Damien pointed out casually.
Through blurry
