ELLA

It’s judgment day for Madam Penelope Ford.

I lean back in the high-backed leather chair at the head of the Ford family’s private dining room, my legs crossed, and my fingers steepled like I’m about to deliver the Sermon on the Mount.

The chandelier above glitters coldly, setting the perfect vibe for her persecution.

I can’t help the smile crawling up my face due to the number of eyes glued to my skin right now.

Like I said, perfect.

Devlin lounges to my right, folding his ...