Avery clenched her hands into fists so tightly that her nails dug crescents into her palms, her body bracing the moment she caught sight of Alana comming towards them.
That walk of hers...poised, measured, just shy of arrogance, hadn't changed in all these years. It was too polished to be natural, every sway of her hips rehearsed, every tilt of her chin calculated to command the gaze of the room.
And, as if following the script she always lived by, Alana came to a deliberate stop directly in front of Silas.
For a fleeting second Avery thought she might finally have the audacity to address him as if she belonged at his side. Instead, Alana's eyes flicked toward her, a soft smile curving her lips, and her voice rang out with practiced sweetness.
"Congratulations on your wedding, Avery."
The tone was enough to make Avery's jaw tighten. Anyone listening without context would have thought Alana was the wronged wife, magnanimously blessing the mistress who had stolen her husband.
