The three people in the room turned as Thalassa entered.

Rosalind rose gracefully, a practiced smile playing on her lips. "Thalassa," she cooed, her voice honeyed with charm, "I didn't mean it that way. You've been such a help to Lysander and the Sinclairs. I'm sure they'll show their gratitude. You don't need to worry about any benefits from us. Compared to the Sinclairs, what could we possibly offer?"

Rosalind had a way with words, and as she locked eyes with Thalassa, her gaze was liquid warmth, her smile brimming with intellect. It was a display of breeding in every nuanced expression.

When Thalassa had first met Rosalind three years ago, she was struck by her poise, her elegance, and her well-read charm.

She was everything Thalassa felt she could never be.

hadn't cared much. She had written them off as mean-spirited, targeting her out of spite. But after meeting Rosalind, with her air of cultured grace and the unmistakable scent of academia about her, Thalassa truly understood what it meant to be refined, to be a true lady raised in a world

but feel like

now, as Rosalind had muttered a complaint to Joshua, she seamlessly shifted her demeanor when facing Thalassa, elevating her while slyly belittling her in

she was not Lysander's wife. Her position was precarious at best, and the idea of receiving benefits from them was a stretch. Thalassa met

Q

YOUR

at you. You've weathered more storms than I've

Any attempt to argue would make her appear

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