"Thank you."
Janet's fingers, cold as ice, brushed against the glass. Only then did she realize how low the temperature in the room was.
A chill crept into her body.
She tightened her grip on the glass.
As the man turned to leave, she opened her mouth, wanting to ask something—but the words never made it past her lips.
Tonight… was it truly her wedding night?
The realization brought with it a wave of fear.
The warm milk slid down her throat, instantly easing the tension in her stomach.
A rare sense of comfort bloomed in her chest.
She sat quietly at the edge of the soft Simmons bed, waiting for the man the servant had referred to as "young master."
Her husband.
What kind of man would he be?
She knew nothing about him—not even his name.
All she remembered was that moment when she nodded in agreement, and how Anila and Elvira's eyes had gleamed with vindictive satisfaction.
Men…
To her, they had always been a luxury she could never afford.
