'Maintain your interested heiress attitude, Amara.' Then his tone shifted. 'And you, Vivienne... keep that sweet little daddy's princess act going. Or whatever it is that you are going for.'
For the briefest moment… something flickered in Vivienne's eyes.
Annoyance. A spark of indignation. That lingering, foolish pride of the woman she used to be; an aristocrat raised above the common folk. A jewel of Greenvale, pampered, adored, spoiled since birth.
Her teeth clenched. The impulse to snap back—"You shut the fuck up right now or else…"—burned on her tongue.
But the seal pulsed.
A reminder. A law carved into her very spirit.
She swallowed. Hard.
'...Yes, Master.'
Her head tilted, chin up. Her practiced smile, which disappeared for but a single moment, slid back into place, eyes wide, lashes fluttering. She was every inch the innocent, naive princess playing the part her father adored.
Amara, standing beside her, voiced her acceptance of his new order.
