[Dining Hall—Wolfe Mansion—Later]
The breakfast table looked less like a family meal and more like a United Nations summit. Silver cutlery gleamed under the chandelier. Crystal glasses sparkled like they were auditioning for a diamond commercial. And the food? Enough to feed an entire village—and maybe half the next one too.
Elle sat stiff as a mannequin, wedged between Damien and a terrifyingly sharp knife arrangement that felt like it was glaring at her too. Across from her, Callen glared like he'd just been sentenced to ten years in Elle Prison with no chance of parole.
Grandmother Wolfe sipped her tea with all the serenity of a queen who secretly thrived on watching her grandsons squirm.
"So…" Elle squeaked, her voice pitching halfway into dolphin territory. "Lovely chandelier you have."
The grandmother set her cup down with a quiet clink. Her sharp eyes cut straight through Elle. "So… Elle, you said you're one of the employees at our office?"
