Caroline picked up the crystal glass resting on the white-linen tablecloth, her manicured fingers trembling just enough to make the water ripple. She tilted it toward her lips, and the cold liquid slid down her throat with the sting of pain. It didn't soothe; it burned. Her throat bubbled in pain, as though even swallowing required her to fight back the tide of emotions threatening to consume her.
She set the glass down with an elegant clink, a sound too soft to betray the storm raging beneath her ribcage. Her lips curled into a painful smile, sharp and fragile all at once, and she lifted her chin with practiced defiance. Her eyes—lined in smudged kohl, shimmering faintly under the chandelier's golden glow—locked on Lucien's ice-blue gaze. He was still staring at her, unblinking, as though she were a puzzle piece he couldn't decide whether to keep or discard.
