"So, Mr. Valemont, you liked the tea?"
Clink.
The porcelain cup clinked softly as Cedric set it down, steam still rising from the bitter tea.
He didn't like it. Not even a little. It was far too strong for his taste. But he smiled anyway. A polite, practiced curve of the lips.
"Yes, Miss Valentine. It's... refreshing," he said.
Across from him, Lady Elara Valentine tilted her head slightly, amusement dancing in her brown eyes.
She looked every bit the noble daughter you'd expect. Beautiful, poised, and dressed in a deep emerald gown that probably cost more than most people made in a year.
Her hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and her smile never faltered. She was charming. Elegant. Graceful.
And Cedric hated every second of this.
'Fuck you, Kyle.'
This was the eleventh time—eleven times—he had to sit in one of these godforsaken meetings, pretending to be someone else.
He wasn't Cedric right now. He was "Kyle Valemont."
