Alistair's face turned an alarming shade of red as my question hung in the air between us. For a moment, I thought he might explode right there in the middle of Old Mrs. Sterling's birthday celebration.
"How dare you," he sputtered, voice trembling with fury. "After everything we've done for you—"
I wanted to laugh. Everything they'd done for me? The neglect? The cruelty? The constant reminders that I was unwanted?
"Perhaps this isn't the place for this conversation," I said evenly, noticing several guests glancing our way.
"You ungrateful little—" Alistair began, but a soft voice interrupted him.
"Alistair, that's enough."
We all turned to see Beatrice approaching, looking elegant yet fragile in a pale blue gown. Her face was drawn with tension, but her eyes were determined as she came to stand beside me.
"This is neither the time nor the place," she said firmly. "We are guests here."
