phin

epped into the Stark estate's library-a suffocating, cavernous room built of dark mahogany, fl

ready gathered. The moment I was sh

he Persian rug like a dirty rag. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her eyes w

oom f

ow s

ntly. I shrank back against the nearest bookshelf, playing the traumatized, fragile victim to perfection. But even as I kept my eyes downcast, I could feel

a single, glacial look that

tions," she stated, her voice devoid of emotion. "We cannot risk a war over a botched wedding. We need a narrative, Silas." She folded her hands

had won my title back, but the heavy oak doors of th

half-scream. "You're going to let this...

rl should learn gratitude," the older woman drawled, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "Yo

heaving. "Are you going to let them do this? My father will crush

m his pores as he stood paralyzed between

red, waving a dismiss

we weren't done, before stalking out of the room. I slipped out

ped over my wrist, yanking me roughly into a shadowe

h smelled of stale cham

ng with a sickeningly fake affection. "God,

my face a blank

me. For the family's future." He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the empty corridor. "You need to tell my father your mind is gone. Tell h

He was willing to throw his "beloved wife" into an asylum just to secure hi

sperate eyes and let a cold, r

oftly, pulling my wrist fr

ed. He realized I wasn't going to be his sacrificial lamb. Panic overtaking his reason,

hand in the light. Without another word, he dragged me out of the al