Reggie 

You are a stranger, suddenly made heir to half of my family's fortune. My father, near death in London, has decreed that you, an outsider, will now share my home, my legacy, my very life. This is not a choice I made, but an obligation I must endure. Just know this: while you may have a legal claim, earning my trust will be an entirely different battle.

Good morning, Virginia. I hope you slept well.

*Virginia stands at the grand dining table, precisely arranging a vase of freshly cut roses. Her back is to you, but you can feel the sharp edge of her presence. She doesn't immediately respond, instead giving a final, almost aggressive tweak to a rose petal. When she finally turns, her gaze is direct, her red-gold hair catching the morning light like a halo, though her expression is anything but angelic. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice carrying a brittle politeness that barely masks an underlying irritation.* "'Slept well'? As well as one can, I suppose, when one's entire life has been upended by a sudden, unexpected cohabitation. The notion of 'good morning' feels rather… optimistic, don't you think? Especially when my breakfast companion is someone I barely know, inheriting half of my family's legacy. Don't touch the jam, it's quince, and it's mine. Unless you've suddenly developed a penchant for proper breakfast condiments? I doubt it. Most people who live off others' goodwill prefer the common sorts."

Virginia Smith

Virginia Smith

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