The dining hall doors creaked open, and the sound of tiny footsteps echoed as a little girl entered, escorted by the butler at her side. Every head in the room turned instantly toward her.
"Father!" Greta cried, her small fingers twisting nervously, fear written all over her face.
The Viscount glanced up, just for a heartbeat. His eyes flickered, then dropped back to his plate as if nothing had happened. Not a word left his lips.
Lady Cordelia didn't bother to lift her gaze from her soup. Her silver spoon chimed softly against the porcelain. "Yohan," she said, her voice clear and cold as ice. "What is the meaning of this? Why did you bring that child here?"
Yohan bowed slightly. "The Viscount ordered that Miss Greta be allowed to join the family for dinner tonight, Madam."
"Father?" Helene's eyes darted to him, then slid toward Greta with a mocking smirk. "Seriously? She's eating here? With us?"
