Dinner began in the same overly ostentatious manner that lunch had, with Lord Ambrose once again taking centre stage as the self-appointed ruler of the table.
His laughter boomed through the hall, drawing attention to himself as he regaled us with tales of his so-called "daring" exploits none of which I believed, but I smiled and nodded politely for the sake of appearances.
Riley, beside me, looked as though she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. I couldn't blame her. The air was thick with pompous arrogance, and Ambrose's voice was grating at best.
The table was lined with rich, decadent dishes, meats roasted to perfection, fresh vegetables, and wines poured freely. But the tension beneath the surface was palpable. I could feel Riley's discomfort growing with each passing second, and my patience was wearing thin.
