Meredith.
I hated that I had to be standing when Draven casually strolled into my room like he owned the floor beneath his feet. And of course, he did.
His shoulder-length black hair looked freshly washed, glistening faintly under the chandelier's amber glow. Shampooed.
I didn't know why that annoyed me, but it did. Long hair on men always seemed impractical to me. All that swaying and brushing past shoulders—it irritated me.
Madame Beatrice and the rest of the servants bowed as he entered, each movement crisp and precise, just like they were trained.
Draven's Beta, Jeffery, stood just behind him, head dipped in acknowledgment but still sharp-eyed, alert.
I remained still. I had no intention of bowing or curtseying to him. Not tonight.
