Maya's POV
The breakfast table at the Sterling estate felt like a battlefield disguised as fine dining. Sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the ornate morning room, casting everything in a golden glow that should have felt warm but somehow made the atmosphere even more suffocating. I focused on maintaining perfect posture while Sebastian's mother, Beatrice Sterling, handled her silverware with the precision of a trained assassrist.
From the moment she had descended the grand staircase this morning, Beatrice hadn't stopped weaving her verbal web. Her Valentian accent grew more pronounced when she wanted to emphasize her sophistication, particularly when discussing what she called "proper family protocols." Every syllable was weaponized, every pause strategically placed. Where Arthur's aristocratic bearing felt effortless and genuine, Beatrice wore her nobility like armor, constantly polishing it to make sure everyone noticed its shine.
