Benedict's jaw tightened as he replayed the words spoken earlier in the evening. The subtle barbs and outright dismissals from his father, the mocking glance from Anna as she sauntered through the halls as if she owned them. Each moment chipped away at the fragile hold he had on his emotions.
"I will remember this," Benedict thought to himself, his fists tightening at his sides. "Every word, every action. I will never forget."
Benedict's eyes drifted to Adeline. She stood in the centre of the room, poised and radiant despite the heavy atmosphere. The sight of her brought a strange mixture of comfort and despair.
He wanted to approach her, to tell her everything that was weighing on him. She would understand—she always did. But something held him back.
His gaze lingered, his heart aching with the conflict inside him. On one hand, he wanted everyone to see the injustice, to know how his father had betrayed his mother's memory. On the other, he didn't want to burden Adeline.
