Queen Elena closed the distance between them, her presence filling the tiny, cramped room. She didn't look like a woman about to scream; she looked like a woman trying to prevent a disaster. Her eyes, so similar to Alaric's, scanned Sofia's disheveled appearance—the torn dress, the swollen lips, and the scent of Alaric that clung to her skin like a brand.
"Did you just fuck my brother?" Elena asked, her voice filled with disbelief and rage.
Sofia's heart stopped. She instinctively pulled her dress higher over her heavy breasts, her face burning with a mix of shame and fear. "No… I…"
"Don't lie to me," Elena snapped, though her tone wasn't cruel—it was weary. "I was watching from the balcony. I saw you getting out of his car. I've lived with Alaric long enough to know that look on a woman's face. And I know the scent of his satisfaction."
Sofia looked at the floor, her thick thighs shaking. She felt trapped. "He saved me, Luna. My mother... she was going to kill me."
