When the elevator doors closed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall—perfect makeup, perfect curls, perfect lie.
The moment I stepped into the car, the façade began to c***k.
My driver started the engine, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Back to the manor, Miss Delilah are you alright?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
As the city blurred past, memories began to surface—uninvited, relentless.
Bowen Airport. Six years ago.
That was the first time I’d seen Doctor Anderson. My parents had insisted we go to greet him in person; they said his research could strengthen our alliance with the Alpha Council. I’d worn white silk, the kind of fabric that caught the light just enough to look angelic. My mother had whispered, Smile, darling. Make an impression. Powerful men remember politenes
