The Lyselle Manor was as grand and imposing as ever, with its high ceilings and lavish décor, designed to silently scream wealth and dominance. As usual, Amara sat at the dining table with her parents, the silence between them punctuated only by the soft clinking of silverware against fine china. The chef had prepared an elaborate meal, but Amara couldn't have cared less. Her mind was preoccupied, thinking about her parents' earlier decision to fire those gossiping idiots from the office.
And, of course, thinking about her.
Elara's face, the way her eyes had softened when Amara defended her, kept popping into her mind. Elara wasn't supposed to like her. That wasn't part of the plan. And yet, somehow, the favorability score had gone up by five points, and Amara couldn't stop wondering if there was more to Elara's reaction than just gratitude. Not that she cared, obviously. She was only protecting her because the system demanded it.
Right?
