It was a rather strange morning.
The sun hung high in the sky, warm and gentle, and a fresh breeze drifted in through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the academy gardens.
By all accounts, it was the kind of morning that should have felt peaceful.
Yet Lily couldn't shake the unease creeping up her spine.
She carefully prepared a cup of tea for her young lady, her movements practiced and quiet, but her eyes kept flickering back to Liyana.
On the surface, her mistress looked as pristine and beautiful as ever—her posture graceful, her expression soft, her fingers delicately cradling the porcelain cup.
But Lily knew better.
Ever since Riley and his supposed future fiancées had returned to the academy, Liyana's mood had subtly darkened.
Not in a loud or obvious way—no outbursts, no sharp words—but in the kind of silence that pressed heavily against the air, the kind that made servants walk on eggshells without quite knowing why.
And now…
