Ariel Sawyer stormed into her parents' lavish home, heels clicking like bullets on the floors.
Her lipstick was smudged, her silver watch hung from her wrist like a forgotten ornament, and the fury in her eyes could have melted the platinum light fixtures.
"Mother! Father!"
From the living room, Lydia glanced up from her tablet with a composed smile that vanished the moment she saw Ariel's face. Harrison, seated beside her with a scotch in hand, lowered his paper.
"What now?" he sighed.
Ariel threw herself into the nearest armchair, crossing her legs tightly. "Freya Davis. That nobody reporter. She's still seeing Arnold. Even after the announcement!"
Lydia's brow arched. "Darling, how dramatic."
"I walked right into the candlelit dinner he prepared for her! I was soaked in rainwater and betrayal."
"You weren't invited," Harrison muttered.
"Exactly! That's the point!" Ariel snapped. "He's still chasing her around like some pauper prince playing rebel. It's humiliating."
