Leona Grant finished the bowl of porridge, lost in his own fantasy.
Though it was completely tasteless, it was more delicious than any delicacy he had ever eaten.
Leona Grant licked his lips. Somehow, he managed to imbue the simple act with a bewitching, regal charm.
The light from the brilliant crystal chandelier illuminated his devastatingly handsome face, a sight that was both stunning and breathtaking.
Annabelle Linton watched the man before her, her expression cold and detached.
The heart that had once fluttered wildly at the mere sight of him now felt not the slightest ripple.
'This was the face she had loved her entire life. Even if only as a memory, it should have been preserved forever.'
'And yet, when she looked at him now, there was nothing left but hate.'
'Yes, hate.'
'It was a loathing so deep it had settled in her bones, but not the kind that would drive her to seek revenge or take any action.'
