Daniella frowned slightly, the name meaning nothing to her. She had been in this world too briefly to know all the influential families, all the old alliances and broken expectations. But the Delacroixs clearly knew it well. Alfred's jaw tensed, his already exhausted face growing more pinched. Isabella straightened her spine despite the vivid red mark still blooming across her cheek, her pride forcing her to present herself as composed despite everything.
Then the Villarreals entered.
Their arrival carried none of the earlier chaos. Instead, it moved with the quiet, effortless authority of old money and older influence—people who stepped into powerful houses as though the walls had always been waiting for them. There was no shouting, no dramatic entrance, no demands. Just the soft click of expensive shoes against marble and the subtle rustle of fine clothing.
