Cassian strode into the dining hall with an unreadable expression, his posture stiff yet composed. His movements were calm, but his insides churned with frustration and residual embarrassment.
He had taken great care to conceal the shameful mark, dabbing just enough rouge over it to blend with his skin. His collar was adjusted meticulously—not too tight to seem unnatural, but high enough to keep the evidence hidden.
He had no intention of letting anyone—especially a certain insufferable bastard—see even a flicker of what had transpired earlier.
Yet the moment he entered, his mood soured further.
The City Lord was there.
Cassian's steps faltered for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to keep walking. He clenched his jaw.
Why? Why was he here?
The City Lord rarely graced the breakfast table with his presence. In recent days, he had been absent altogether. But today—of all days—he decided to show up?
