Delilah’s Perspective
The elevator doors slid open with a chime that sounded far too cheerful for the weight in my chest. I stepped out, clutching a small ribbon-wrapped box as if it were a shield. The warm scent of baked almonds followed me down the hall, sweet and desperate—just like me.
Veylor Group was quiet this afternoon. The corridors gleamed under the filtered light, every surface polished to perfection. I could see my own reflection in the glass panels—poised, flawless, the Alpha King’s fiancée. On the outside, I looked composed. On the inside, I was shaking.
Vincent’s assistant rose immediately when she saw me. “Miss Delilah, His Majesty is still in conference.”
“He’ll see me,” I said softly, not slowing my pace. People rarely told me no; they knew better than to keep the Alp
