Samantha leaned forward, resting her chin against her knuckles. She had an effortless grace about her—elegant, poised, but dangerously observant.

Her painted nails tapped against the table.

“Ariel, you said your father is a merchant in this city,” Samantha began, tilting her head slightly. “That’s quite interesting. You must have lived a very comfortable life then, no?”

Johny’s grip on her hand tightened. This wasn’t part of the questions they had prepared for.

She could feel every pair of eyes on her, waiting for her response.

The question was deceptively innocent, but she knew better.

Samantha wasn’t asking for simple details. She was probing. Fishing for inconsistencies.

“We lived well...