The hall of the Arman Clan had never felt this heavy before.
Rows upon rows of elders sat beneath ancient carved pillars, their dark robes dragging across the polished wooden floor. The air smelled of incense, old paper, and tension. Outside, rain struck the windows softly, like the sky itself was waiting for something irreversible.
At the center of the hall stood Wren. Not as someone's niece or as someone's pawn.
And neither as the broken girl manipulated by old bloodlines and older traditions.But as the true head of the clan.
For the first time in her life, she stood there without chains around her soul.
Whispers spread the moment she entered.
"She's too young. She's unstable. She chose love over duty."
Wren heard every single word.And for once…
They meant nothing.
