The Severing Thread

RUBY

Wesley's voice carried across the reception as he raised his glass, commanding everyone's attention. "To bonds worth fighting for," he proclaimed, his gaze briefly connecting with mine before flitting to Roman.

I shifted uncomfortably, aware of Roman's proximity at the adjacent table. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—a reaction so subtle only someone who'd studied him as carefully as I had would notice. For all his poise, Roman had never mastered hiding his disdain for Wesley.

The crowd echoed Wesley's toast enthusiastically, oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. I took a small sip of champagne, the bubbles suddenly tasting bitter on my tongue.