[Duclair Estate—The Duchess Opens the Letter of Doom]
Lucien peeled the envelope open like it was a venomous snake—suspicious, vaguely dangerous, and far too dramatic to ignore on a Thursday morning.
The parchment was thick.
The ink? Bold and emotionally constipated.
But the first thing that hit him wasn't the words.
It was the smell.
Lucien reeled back a little. "Did he… send this with his own pheromones?!"
He sniffed again, cautiously, like a suspicious cat. "This smells like ocean breeze, wet pine, battlefield tears, and... regret."
He blinked once. Then again.
A long sigh escaped him as he clutched the letter and muttered under his breath, "What am I even doing…? I'm angry. Angry, Lucien. Focus. Be furious. Clench your jaw. Furrow that brow. Yes. Like that."
He glared at the letter with forced rage, lips pursed, brow dramatically furrowed, giving the parchment the look of a betrayed lover who also happened to be six months pregnant and fabulous.
And then… he opened it.
