Dread coils in the pit of my stomach as I make my way down the marble staircase to Nickolas's study. He summoned me, no doubt, to discuss my behavior at breakfast. My shoulders slump with a sense of sadness. It was nice while it lasted. But instead of dwelling on my sadness, I should be praying that he doesn't make me regret my actions.
Stepping into his office, my hands suddenly grow clammy as I approach Nickolas's desk. I discreetly wipe them on my dress, trying to compose myself as I clear my throat to speak.
"You asked for me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, the confidence I had earlier that morning now nowhere to be found. Nickolas nods in acknowledgment but remains focused on the papers spread out before him, seemingly indifferent to my presence. Sweat begins to bead on my
