The doors to the private dining room had barely clicked shut behind Eris when the temperature in the room seemed to plummet, leaving Caelen and Ophelia in a vacuum of suffocating silence. The remnants of the meal... a half-eaten quail, a stain of red wine on the linen... looked like the ruins of a battlefield.
Ophelia sat perfectly still. To any observer, she looked like a portrait of serene womanhood, her hands resting on the gentle curve of her stomach. But beneath the pale skin of her knuckles, the blood was humming with a cold, electric fury. She could still taste the iron of Eris's final retort.
"Hearts choose poorly." The words were a brand, a reminder that Eris considered Caelen's love an error, while Ophelia considered it her entire world.
