The morning sun shone through the tall windows of the Draven mansion's dining room, painting everything in warm light. The table was filled with the usual spread — fresh bread, fruit, steaming tea. But it wasn't the food that weighed down the atmosphere.
It was the tension.
Again.
Hugo sat close beside me, as though his very presence alone could shield me from the world. His hand, as usual, brushed against mine, and his eyes followed me whenever I reached for anything. To most, it would have looked romantic. To me, it was suffocating.
Across the table, Father — no, Kael — narrowed his eyes with that same half-lion glare, watching every movement like Hugo had trespassed into sacred ground.
"Pass the butter," Kael said flatly.
"I already did," Hugo answered, tone equally dry. "She prefers it light."
"And you assume you know her preferences better than her own family?"
"I don't assume," Hugo replied, unflinching. "I listen."
