Chapter 1811:


    When she didn’t answer, his expression shifted with concern. “Gillian, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”


    “I’m fine,” she said. She looked up at him and offered a small smile. “I was just trying to decide what I felt like eating.”


    Meeting his eyes — warm, steady, full of something she wasn’t ready to name — sent a quiet rush of feeling through her. She wanted to hold on to this moment a little longer, to store it away carefully before the distance between them became permanent.


    “Just let me know when you decide. I’ll get you whatever you want, as long as the doctor approves,” Alban said, reaching for his phone. He had already noted down the doctor’s instructions, including everything Gillian was not yet allowed to eat. While she was recovering, he intended to follow every one of those guidelines without exception.


    “Okay,” Gillian replied softly. She made a quiet promise to herself to let thesest few moments exist as they were — to hold onto them as something worth keeping, long after everything else had changed.


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    One weekter, the engagement party for Jaxen and Violette was in full swing, the room crowded and bright with celebration. Christina stood among the guests, a ss of wine held loosely in her hand, her gaze moving slowly across the gathered members of the Wade and Hewitt families.


    A quiet, measured smile curved her lips.


    The Jones and Martel families had been working in careful silence for months, and the moment to act had finally arrived. A secret was about to surface — one that would bring both families to their knees and leave nothing standing in its wake.


    “Miss Jones.”


    A vaguely familiar voice came from behind Christina. She turned with a slight frown, trying to ce it.


    It was Irene — the girl who shadowed Violette wherever she went — standing there with a smile and a ss of red wine in hand.


    “Can I help you?” Christina asked, her gaze moving over her with quiet assessment.


    Irene had always done exactly as Violettemanded. Even on her better days, she had never shown Christina anything resembling warmth. This sudden friendliness set off an immediate warning.


    “I’ve treated you poorly in the past, and I wanted to apologize,” Irene said, her expression arranged into something that resembled remorse.


    In truth, she was carrying out Violette’s instructions: get Christina to drink from the drugged ss. Violette had dangled a reward in front of her — help her win Alban, make him fall for her. Since Violette was marrying Jaxen, Irene had convinced herself that Violette was done with Alban and willing to hand him off. She assumed it was all about keeping the Hewitt and Martel families connected through a new match.


    Privately, Irene found the whole arrangementughable. The moment she became Mrs. Martel, she intended to have Violette removed from Lionesspaw for good. She had endured years of being looked down on and used, and she was done. Violette knew too many of her secrets — and Irene had decided that the only reliable way to keep a secret was to silence the person who held it.


    What Irene didn’t see, wrapped up in her own scheming, was that Violette was the one using her.


    She thought she was the clever one. She was wrong.


    When Christina said nothing, Irene’s confidence flickered. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “Miss Jones, please — I know I behaved badly. Can’t we just put it behind us?”


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