Chapter Thirty Seven

"Do you even love Eric?"

The question, sharp and direct, hung in the heavy silence of the elegant tea room. It was a weapon designed to deliver a final, killing blow. Delia didn't know what to say. The honest answer was no, but saying so would mean her immediate defeat and will sabotage her whole plan. She couldn't say the truth and she couldn't even lie. She could feel Anne's smug, triumphant smile on her that she wanted to smack it off her face so bad.

Duchess Lyra leaned forward slightly, pressing her advantage. "You want to marry my son so badly, and yet you cannot answer this one simple question?" She scoffed, letting the words sink in.

Delia took a slow, steadying breath, her mind racing. Answering with a simple yes or no was a trap. She had to change the question, reframe the entire conversation. She looked up, her eyes clear and direct, and a small, sad smile touched her lips.