One of the ladies smiled faintly while the other began arranging brushes and palettes with practiced ease.
Adrian, however, merely shrugged, utterly unbothered.
Rather, he stepped closer, resting one hand on the dressing table and the other on the chair I was seated on. He bent slightly, his reflection towering behind mine.
"Do you still need to steal her spotlight?" he asked, lips tugging into a lazy smirk. "Isn't it already clear?"
My brow furrowed slightly, my eyes met his in the mirror, searching for what he meant. "What is clear?" I asked.
His lips curled up, his head tilted to my side. His breath against my ear.
"You're not there to compete," he continued, his tone low and assured. "You're there to attend as my wife. That alone already sets you apart."
My heart fluttered softly at the word wife.
He was really fast to lay claims. Is he worried I don't remember that?.
