ADRIAN'S P.O.V.
Lucian's expression was unreadable as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing the armrests. His gaze, felt piercing, as if he could see straight into my soul. It unnerved me how calm he seemed when I had just poured out such a harrowing piece of my past. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with his signature sarcasm.
"Well, Adrian, I have to say I now understand why you despise Margaret so much. Can't say I blame you. What I don't understand," he added with a tilt of his head, "is why you seem to dread seeing her again. Shouldn't she be the one quaking in her boots?"
The room stilled, all eyes snapping to me. The unspoken question hung in the air: Why would the great Adrian Daegon fear anyone?
I chuckled softly, the sound bitter in my throat. "You're right, Lucian. She should be the one dreading it. But my story with Margaret didn't end that night."
