Adrian's hand tightened subtly against his knee under the table, the name hitting him like a physical blow. Something in his chest constricted, an old wound reopening in the space of a single syllable. He kept his fake, tight smile firmly in place as Lydia squeezed his arm tighter, her nails pressing crescents into his sleeve, a silent reminder that he was expected to stay composed, to play his part.
He had learned, over the years, exactly how much pressure that grip could apply before it became unbearable, and today she seemed intent on testing the very limit of it.
"She always was the difficult one," Evelyn continued, setting her porcelain teacup down with a sharp, dismissive clink. "From the moment she came back here, she had to question everything. No sense of duty. No understanding of what the Hale name represents."
