MARION“I’m also here, Mother,” I teased as she turned to leave with Demetria.“You aren’t a guest, Marion. A little rejection won’t hurt. Right, Demetria?”“Of course, Mrs. Whitfield,” she replied smoothly, glancing back at me with a smirk that made my chest tighten.I shook my head, amused, and followed them into the living room.The room was the same as it always had been, polished oak shelves lined with books my mother insisted she would read one day, framed photographs of galas and family trips, and my father’s leather armchair planted like a throne by the window. The smell of roasted lamb drifted in from the kitchen, carried by the hum of conversation from the staff preparing the table.Mother moved with purpose, her hand lightly resting on Demetria’s back as if she had already claimed her as one of her own. “Darling, I’d like you to meet my husband, Maxwell Whitfield,” she said, her voice carrying that effortless warmth she reserved for people she approved of.My father stood,
Last Updated : 2025-10-06
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