Diana's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, one that carried the weight of centuries and the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where she stood.
The corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly, as if she were savoring the moment, the way one might relish the first sip of a fine wine.
"I am his aunt," she said, her voice smooth, almost musical, but with an edge that demanded attention. "And his official wife."
The words hung in the air like a blade suspended above silk. Angela's breath caught. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to still—even the droplets of water clinging to Angela's skin paused their descent.
She didn't lash out. Didn't snarl or bare her teeth. Instead, her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, as if she'd been handed a truth she couldn't argue with, no matter how much it stung. Her fingers, still resting possessively on my waist, tightened almost imperceptibly before loosening again.
