Third Person's POV.
Wanda's heels clicked softly against the polished stone floors as she made her way back to her quarters, her mind simmering with frustration.
Draven had dismissed her.
Again.
She had expected resistance—Draven never entertained idle talk—but the way he had so effortlessly ended their conversation left a sour taste in her mouth.
She had wanted answers, clarity, anything to make sense of why he had chosen that woman and what he planned to do with her. Instead, she had been brushed aside like an afterthought.
She inhaled deeply through her nose, willing herself to remain composed.
Lately, she felt like she was always grasping at shadows when it came to Draven. He was becoming harder to predict, and she despised not knowing his plans.
She had spent years by his side, aiding him, supporting him, believing in his vision. And now, he was keeping secrets from her?
Her thoughts were interrupted when she spotted a maidservant standing outside her room.
