The clink of silverware against fine china echoed through the formal dining room. I sat rigid in my chair, painfully aware of my position at the long mahogany table. To my left sat my mother, now treated with a semblance of respect that still felt foreign after years of humiliation. The bruise on my cheek from Logan's slap had faded to a yellowish tinge, barely visible beneath my carefully applied makeup.
Lady Isolde Nightwing, the triplets' mother, sat directly across from me, her elegant posture and gentle smile betraying none of the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud. Lord Alaric Nightwing occupied the head of the table, his stern features softened only marginally by the expensive wine in his glass.
The triplets were scattered around the table - Kaelen to my right, Ronan across from him, and Orion beside his mother. And then there was Lilith, positioned strategically beside Ronan, her crimson lips curled in a permanent smirk.
