News of the "future betrothal" had saturated Avernon City's business journals before Alaric's jet even kissed the tarmac. The city elders—a collection of starchy, archaic men who believed they still held the puppet strings of the elite bloodlines—had deemed a union between Lucifer and the daughter of the Vance family a strategic necessity for the city's stability.
Inside the sprawling luxury limousine whisking them toward the mansion, Alaric scanned his tablet, his expression gradually calcifying into a mask of ice. His jaw set firmly, though his hand remained gentle as he stroked Anna's back while she rested her head against his shoulder.
"What is it, Alaric?" Anna asked, sensing the sudden rigidity in his frame.
"Those fossils think they can dictate my son's future," Alaric hissed. He cut the tablet off. "Aris, turn around. We're not going to the mansion. We're going to the Elders' Council Hall."
