The study felt too quiet, the kind of silence that made every creak of the old mansion feel like a shout. I sat in the armchair by the fire, my fingers nervously twisting the edge of my sleeve. Damien stood by the desk, his expression guarded as he sifted through the papers we had collected over the last few days.
I couldn't focus on the documents anymore. My stepmother's words had taken root in my mind, winding their way through every moment of stillness.
"Damien doesn't love you, Emilia. He's just like the rest of them—using you for his own gain."
And then there was her parting shot, insinuating my mother's supposed affair might have been more than just gossip.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on in that head of yours, or do I have to guess?" Damien's voice broke through my spiral of thoughts.
I looked up at him, his dark eyes locked on mine. There was concern there, but also frustration.
