The soft clink of silverware echoed in the cavernous dining room, a delicate sound almost swallowed by the weight of silence.Everything was perfect, as always—hand-cut crystal, French linen napkins, an oak dining table long enough to seat royalty. My father never tolerated less than excellence. And Alexander Grayson fit right in, all clean lines and cool indifference, a man moulded for power and untouched by warmth.He sat across from me, his expression unreadable, his every move calculated. He hadn't said much since he arrived. Not that I expected him to. Still, I waited, watching. Listening.Then came the first strike.“The wedding will take place in six months,” my father said, reaching for his wine with the ease of someone making small talk.”No, it won't.” Alexander objected. ”No one will believe I’m marrying someone with such short notice unless something was wrong,” he continued smoothly.My father's lips thinned. ”What would you suggest then?””A year is a more reasonable time
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