Alisha froze, a sudden, biting chill racing through her limbs as if she had been plunged into glacial waters. Her pupils quivered, tracking the long, imposing shadow that now draped across the room's entrance like a shroud. How? her mind shrieked in disbelief. She had been meticulous—she had ensured the message was sent in the deepest secrecy, far from the prying eyes of guards and the whispers of spies. Yet, there stood Lucius, an inescapable reality at the door.
Beside her, Olivia's breath hitched, her composure shattering for one fraction of a heartbeat. In that fleeting second, the formidable Duchess of Locron—the cold, calculating architect of vengeance—vanished. She felt herself stripped bare, cast back through the years until she was no longer a high-ranking noble, but someone far more vulnerable.
However, the lapse was momentary. With the practiced ease of a woman born to survive, she donned her frigid mask once more. Her emotions retreated behind a wall of ice.
