Dread coils in the pit of my stomach as I make my way down the marble staircase to Nickolas's study. He summoned me, no doubt, to discuss my behavior at breakfast. My shoulders slump with a sense of sadness. It was nice while it lasted. But instead of dwelling on my sadness, I should be praying that he doesn't make me regret my actions.

Stepping into his office, my hands suddenly grow clammy as I approach Nickolas's desk. I discreetly wipe them on my dress, trying to compose myself as I clear my throat to speak.

"You asked for me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, the confidence...