There was only one woman Aria knew who would have the sheer effrontery to burst into her room as if it were her own personal chamber.
Even if she hadn't seen the face, the light, mocking laughter that followed—high-pitched and cruel—was enough to confirm Aria's suspicions. And when the door was slammed shut without an ounce of restraint, the sharp echo reverberating off the stone walls, it left no doubt.
Lady Vivian.
The pain radiating from Aria's ankle was unbearable. It throbbed with a constant, fiery pulse—like someone had seared the joint with a branding iron and continued slicing through it with each breath she took. It wasn't a sharp stab anymore—it was a deep, molten agony that pulsed rhythmically, growing worse with every passing second.
