Cathleen's fingers traced the rim of her porcelain cup, a delicate dance of apprehension and resolve. Around her, the restaurant hummed with the quiet cadence of morning routines, yet within her chest, a storm brewed more bitter than the dark roast she reluctantly sipped.
"Did you know?" Her words cut through the murmurs, eyes fixated on the man across from her.
Her father, William, met her gaze with a wearied resignation that belied his stoic front. The air thickened between them, laden with the weight of unspoken truths and the sharp tang of betrayal.
"Did you know I wouldn't be marrying Finn that day, but his uncle?" The question hung in the air, accusatory and demanding. Her voice was steel-wrapped in velvet, as authoritative as any closing argument she'd delivered in the courtroom.
