MARION

“They’ve arrived,” I said to no one in particular, glancing toward the door. My parents sat elegantly in the main hall, Marcel at my side, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

This wasn’t just another Sunday brunch. This was Demetria and her father stepping into the Whitfield world.

The butler swung the heavy doors open.

Demetria walked in first. Cream dress, soft waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, confidence radiating in the way she moved, like she ...