Annabelle stepped forward, her heels striking the marble like punctuation marks. She didn't walk like a girl. She walked like judgment in lipstick.
"If your plan was to torch your bloodline and get kicked in front of three blood dynasties," she said smoothly, "if you were aiming for public humiliation on a divine scale, then congratulations, ten out of ten. Really. That was art."
Aleric paled visibly.
She glanced at Dominic. "You should be proud. Most families implode privately. But you? You made it a gala event."
Then she turned back to Aleric, circling him like a wolf might circle something bleeding but too pitiful to bite.
Dominic's jaw clenched. Aleric looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.
She paced around them slowly, like a lioness circling prey she didn't need to kill—just mock.
"The Ashfords used to be the family that bought senators like snacks. Now you can't even finance a snack. That's what we call a generational plot twist."
