The crackling fireplace lit the dark wood–paneled walls of Mr. Kensington's study. The rows of ancestral portraits seemed to avert their gaze from the chaos approaching.
Veronika entered with firm steps, chin lifted high, unflinching. She wore a silk dress that brought out the copper glow of her red hair and framed her crimson eyes.
— I expected you to come down for the main event. — Her words sounded more like reproach than greeting. — It was the perfect moment to sign a new contract with ST Trading.
He looked up and offered her a weary glance. Before him lay an official document, its imposing seal warped beneath the pressure of his hand.
— Veronika, my daughter — he began gravely —. Tomorrow you will leave this house.
She raised an eyebrow, incredulous.
— Are you joking? I have a ball next week and several social engagements I will NOT miss.
He sighed, weighed down by his own decisions.
— I've arranged for you to spend a season with… an acquaintance. — He hesitated over the word. — From him, you will learn certain responsibilities that I have failed to instill…
— Responsibilities? — Veronika let out a short laugh. — You confuse my elevated position with a lack of manners. Perhaps you should pay more attention to your current business, Father.
Mr. Kensington resisted the urge to raise his voice, his fingers drumming on the contract. He couldn't tell her the true fears gnawing at him: the political climate had grown tense in recent months, and he feared the worst. Especially now that the Presidium of the People's Union had ignored his warnings.
— Veronika, the conditions are set. This man, known as the Master, is a very influential politician. He agreed to take you under his tutelage, and the document is already signed.
— Tutelage? — She frowned openly, her disdain unhidden. — I don't need a babysitter, and certainly not a politician with such a pompous title.
— It is no longer negotiable. — Her father stood — something he rarely did in her presence —. Tomorrow morning you will leave. Take only what you need.
Veronika restrained the urge to slam her fist on the desk. Instead, her lips curled into a scornful smirk.
— I don't appreciate being ordered around like a child. And you expect me to accept it without question? How Annoying. But what choice do I have? — Her voice dripped with fine sarcasm. — I'll go with your so-called friend who styles himself the Master. I'll show you what it truly means to have no manners — that much I promise.
She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Mr. Kensington frozen, staring at the document that sealed his only daughter's departure. To him, it was the only way to keep her safe, though she would never understand it at that moment.