Isabella Hawthorne
As I settled into the chair beside him, the cloying scent of jasmine from the nearby flowers filled my senses. Ulric leaned back, his gaze fixed on me. There was a possessiveness in his stare that made me squirm.
A team of silent servants materialized, gliding around the table with plates piled high with food. The aroma of roast pheasant and spiced vegetables filled the air, momentarily distracting me.
"So," he continued, spearing a piece of glistening chicken with his knife. "Tell me, Isabella. How are you faring?"
"I… I'm alright," I stammered, picking at a piece of bread. My stomach churned nervously, making it difficult to swallow.
His gaze flickered down to my abdomen for a fleeting moment, then back to my face.
"And the… little one?"
The heat rose to
