Chapter 9: The First Buyer
The clack of her heels echoed furiously across the marble floors of the Town Guard station as the officer signed her release. Misty didn’t thank him. She didn’t glance at the guards who escorted her out. She moved like someone who believed the world owed her an apology—and that she’d collect it before noon.
The moment the air hit her skin, she hissed. Morning sunlight filtered through high arches, far too bright for the mood curling under her skin. Her nails dug into her silk gloves as she snapped them into place, jaw tight.
Her expensive dress was now creased and ruined; it was made of a material that was notoriously difficult to maintain. A material designed for those who were more concerned with its appearance than with its functionality.
She had been humiliated.
Dragged from a noble estate like some criminal. Spoken to like she was nothing. And worst of all, by her own son.
Her own traitorous, precious investment.
Lucas.
She had made numerous sacrifices to obtain him, to be able to give birth to an imperial child, and to raise him in her care, away from those who could intervene.
She boarded the car waiting for her, ready to unleash a tirade at Ophelia for her cowardice, for her silence, for not defending her at dinner the night before. But the words died in her throat the moment she saw him.
A man stood beside the open door of the car, leaning slightly against the polished frame like the vehicle belonged to him. Her driver and her usual bodyguard were nowhere to be seen. They were most likely bribed to allow them time to speak in silence.
Ash-brown hair, styled with that effortless precision only those born into old money could master. His suit was black, tailored to the inch, and hugged his frame like armor. The House Velloran emblem was discreet but unmistakable on the lapel.
He didn’t smile. She had never seen him smile or treat her like an equal.