Drusilla led Arielle into the mansion in silence.

The grand halls of Blackthorn Estate glowed with warm lights, but Arielle felt none of it.

They had almost reached the foot of the staircase when low voices drifted from the corridor ahead.

Two maids stood near the banister, their heads bent close together, unaware or uncaring that they were not alone.

“So it’s true,” one whispered with thinly veiled delight.

“Alpha Arnold will marry Lady Aurora tomorrow night.”

The other scoffed ...