Chapter 91 – Daphne POV
The room is dimly lit by late-afternoon sun bleeding through thick red curtains. The walls are lined with dark wood and endless rows of books I doubt he's ever read. A single painting of a golden sea sunset hangs above the fireplace, too perfect, too deliberate.
I sit where he's told me to—on the pale velvet chair that sinks under my weight like it's trying to swallow me whole.
Why did he call for me?
"Lady Daphne," he says again, more gently now, folding his hands over a stack of carefully arranged parchment.
"Would you like tea?"
Before I can answer, a maid walks in with a silver tray and a delicate clink of porcelain. She pours, bows, and vanishes like smoke.
I lift the teacup, mostly for something to hold, not because I want it. It's warm against my fingers. Steadying.
The duke watches me from across the desk, elbows resting on polished wood, expression unreadable.
Then he stands.
I stiffen immediately.
