The formal invitation arrived mid-morning—elegant cream stationery embossed with Luna Elena's personal seal. "Your presence is requested for afternoon tea," it read, the carefully penned script unmistakably in Raymond's mother's hand rather than that of her secretary.
Such formality between us was unusual. Since my marriage to Raymond, Luna Elena had always maintained a warm, casual relationship with me, treating me more as daughter than political ally. The sudden reversion to protocol suggested something significant.
I arrived at her private sitting room precisely at the appointed time. A guard stood at attention outside her door—another unusual precaution that heightened my curiosity.
Inside, Luna Elena sat beside a beautifully arranged tea service. Though she greeted me with her cust
