The engagement party had ended abruptly, not with a toast, but with the sting of Elder Damon's hand striking her face. The impact had been hard enough to split her skin, and though the wound needed stitches, her family had insisted it be treated privately. Scandal, after all, could not be tolerated.
Now, Ines sat in her room, the champagne-colored mermaid dress that once shimmered with promise now wrinkled and tainted by the night's events. Her head throbbed as Liza pressed an ice pack gently to her forehead.
The room felt unbearably empty, the pale white walls and lack of decoration amplifying the hollow ache in her chest. Liza had often nagged her to add some color, to make the space feel more alive. But Ines never dared. It wasn't that she didn't know what she liked; perhaps she didn't. Or perhaps she'd simply grown too accustomed to asking for nothing. Asking too much had always been met with her mother's scolding remarks about being spoiled.
