THE PROXY BRIDE: His bride. Her Secret.
Her tone was not demanding, but pleading, an urgent request cloaked in gentleness.
Clarisse’s fingers toyed with the stem of her glass. She did not answer at once. Her eyes drifted toward a vase of lilies perched on the counter near their table. The flowers leaned gracefully in their crystal home, their petals soft yet carrying the quiet arrogance of things too beautiful for this world. Clarisse stared at them as though searching their curved whiteness for courage.
“There are,” she began slowly, “so many secrets, Amara.” Her voice was fragile, as if every word cost her something. “Secrets that breathe within the walls of our house, hiding in corners where the sun does not reach. Secrets that