Nine a.m. sharp.The toll of a heavy bell echoed as the doors to the council chamber swung open.In the shadows, twelve of the family’s most respected elders were seated on either side of a long table, their eyes like chips of flint.Anna and Victor walked in, side by side.Today, Anna had deliberately skipped the designer bullshit. Instead, she wore a faded, out-of-style cotton dress, her hair pulled back in a loose, messy tie. Her makeup was a masterclass in deception—puffy, red-rimmed eyes that screamed long-term abuse. The perfect picture of a victim.From the moment she entered, she clung to Victor’s arm, her eyes locked on the floor, avoiding my gaze completely.Watching her masterful performance, I felt nothing but a deep, hollow sorrow.“Honorable elders,” Victor boomed, getting to his feet the second they were seated. “As the heir to the Falcone family and Miss Anna’s fiancé, I stand here today on her behalf to make a formal request—that this council strip Amelia of her title
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