Clara stood on the marble staircase, her chin lifted, her silver-blue eyes freezing into diamond-hard resolve. "You gave up any claim to this house the moment you fled with your tennis instructor, Victoria," Clara said calmly, her voice carrying through the hall with quiet, aristocratic authority. Charles Vance stepped forward, his face flushed with nervous arrogance. "Don't be insolent, Clara! The society papers haven't printed the bride's name yet! Victoria…
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