The dining room at the Hawthorne estate in Belgravia was built for an absolute performance of stability, even when the foundations were beginning to rot. The room was cast in the low, heavy glow of a sterling silver candelabra, the candlelight flickering against the dark mahogany panels and the pristine porcelain plates that had remained untouched for the last twenty minutes.
Sophia Lang sat at the far end of the table, her spine perfectly straight, her manicured fingers lightly resting against the stem of her crystal wine glass. She hadn't taken a sip. Her dark eyes were fixed entirely on the empty high-backed chair directly opposite her—the one belonging to her fiancé, Elias Hawthorne.
Victor Hawthorne sat at the head of the table, cutting his venison with a slow, clinical precision th
