Sir, please do not taste it! Clara’s voice cut through the damp chill of the cellar, sharp and urgent. Arthur froze in place, his hand hovering inches away from the heavy crystal stopper. He turned slowly, his deep brown eyes showing a mixture of surprise and mild annoyance. To him, Clara was just another unnamed face among the dozens of hired event staff sweeping through his family mansion. But before Arthur could ask why a waitress was shouting at him in his own basement, the heavy iron door at the top of the stairs banged open. The sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels echoed down the steps, accompanied by the rustle of shimmering silk. Victoria stepped into the dim light, her breathtaking gold sequined gown catching the ambient glow of the wall sconces. She looked like royalty, but the expression on her sharp face was pure, unadulterated fury. She glanced between Clara and Arthur, her eyes narrowing as she instantly assessed the situation. Victoria marched straight up to Clara, her posture rigid with an authority that expected absolute obedience from everyone in her sphere of influence.