The guards' hands felt like iron shackles on my arms, jerking me forward every time I dared to resist. When we reached the grand doors of the Ashford mansion, they pushed them open without a pause, revealing a gathering of the Ashford family—elders, advisors, and, at the center, Lady Beatrice. They stood in a semicircle, like judges in a courtroom, their cold gazes slicing into me as though I was something beneath their notice, a nuisance.
They stood in a semicircle like judges in a courtroom, their gazes as cold as glass, fixed on me as though I were something beneath notice. Yet I couldn't stop myself from staring back, my eyes tracing each of their unblemished faces. Skin as smooth and polished as porcelain, expressions carved in stone; not a single line, scar, or imperfection marked any of them. The Ashfords looked like gods among mortals, untouched by life's rough edges, a mocking contrast to the scar that ran down my own face.
