The crackling of the fireplace cast a faint glow on the dark wooden walls of Mr. Kensington's study. Old family portraits lined the walls, as if silently witnessing the most uncomfortable conversation in years. Veronika entered with a firm stride, chin held high, unfazed by the heavy air that lingered in the room.
"I thought you'd be at the gala dinner, father," she said, her tone more bitter than affectionate. "What was so urgent that you had to summon your charming daughter?"
He looked up. His eyes were tired, but resolute. In front of him lay an official document stamped with an imposing seal, though his hand refused to let go of it.
"Veronika. Tomorrow, you'll be leaving this house."
She raised an eyebrow, incredulous. She wore a silk dress that brought out the coppery shine of her hair and framed her green eyes. Born to impress, and she knew it.
"You're joking, right? I have a ball next week and several important events."
Mr. Kensington took a deep breath.
"I've arranged for you to stay with someone for a while. Someone who can teach you… certain responsibilities you seem to lack."
"Certain what?" Veronika let out a short laugh. "And who is he, anyway?"
"A powerful man. A friend of mine. They call him the Master. He's a politician, influential... and he agreed to take you under his care. It's all signed."
"Under his care? Are you sending me off to a stranger like a parcel? And a politician, no less?"
"There's no turning back." He stood up—something he rarely did in her presence. "You'll leave early. Take only what's necessary."
Veronika clenched her fists but held herself back. She twisted her lips into a sneer.
"So it's all decided. Fine. I'll go. But not out of some damn obedience to you—only to show you how ridiculous this whole thing is."
She turned on her heel and walked out with purpose, leaving her father alone, staring in silence at the contract that sealed his daughter's fate. It wasn't what he wanted—but he felt it was the only way to protect her. Even if she couldn't see that yet.