Ariel shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fingers ghosting over the rim of her teacup. She had no idea what the man she was about to meet would look like. And if history had taught her anything, it was that men were never kind to her or her sister.
The young men who had once professed affection had only done so to mock her, relishing in her humiliation. Others made their disdain clear, whispering cruel judgments behind her back—because they knew of her mother's affair. They expected Ariel to repeat the same sins, as if betrayal ran in her blood.
And her father...
Ariel swallowed, her grip tightening. He was a man who wielded his temper like a weapon, never hesitating to remind her and Arabella of their place.
She sighed, pouring herself another cup of tea, needing something—anything—to steady her nerves.
Across from her, Courtez, draped elegantly in a pink shawl, raised a brow.
"Stop drinking. That's your eleventh cup in thirty minutes."
