Belle's POV
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
After a night like that, I thought I'd welcome the silence, but instead it pressed down on me like a weight. Every tick of the clock echoed through the walls, each one reminding me that the dinner was over, but the night was far from behind me. I was home, sitting at the edge of the bed with my shoes kicked off, my dress still clinging to me, and my hair pinned up like it was waiting for an audience.
But I wasn't thinking about the dress or my hair. I was thinking about her.
Talia.
Even now, hours later, I could still see her face, sharp and smug, lit up with a satisfaction she didn't even try to hide. She had walked into that room on Declan's arm like she belonged there, like she had every right to sit among my family, my friends, my future. And she knew exactly what she was doing.
The nerve of her. The absolute nerve.
