Zayn's POV
The absurdity of it all tore a humorless laugh from my throat before I could stop it.
Sylvie's perfectly crafted mask of composure cracked at the edges, her manicured fingers tightening around the armrest of my office sofa. The buttery Italian leather groaned under her grip, tiny crescent moons indenting the surface where her claws nearly unsheathed.
"What the hell is so funny?" Her voice climbed an octave, that cultured boarding-school accent fraying at the edges. "Did I say something amusing?"
The contrast between her and Penelope couldn't have been more pronounced. If Penelope had once been the easiest target in the world to bully—though God knows she wasn't that woman anymore—then Sylvie was undoubtedly the most infuriating creature walking this earth. With great effort, I schooled my features into something approximating civility.
