Rylee
When Alvar makes the announcement, the room falls into a stunned silence, except for Carl and Meg, who already know. I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, and the first to catch my attention is Cecilia's resentful glare. Her hostility cuts through the air like a knife, and I resist the urge to bite my lip. Instead, I force a smile, though my nerves scream for me to run out the door. But Hera is here, and I can’t afford to lose face.
Alvar notices my reaction, and his eyebrow arches slightly as the fire in his eyes fades a little. He takes my hand, his grip firm yet reassuring, and I allow our fingers to interlock.
Alvar’s voice is still charged with determination as he declares, “The wedding is set for next week. No one can change my decision.” He stresses the word “anyone,” and for a brief moment, his gaze flicks toward Hera, who remains expressionless, her face a mask of calm.
Dinner is served shortly after, and the meal is nothing short of exquisite. I try to focus
