"Emily, about what you're doing," he started, his tone somewhat stern.
"This sneaky journalist approach, digging into my past, isn't going to get you anywhere."
Emily looked taken aback by his harsh tone and quietly replied.
"I'm just doing my job...
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*** Rebel in Silk***
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the lights of the Turner Mansion flickered to life, illuminating the ostentatious compound in a warm glow. This wasn't just any old house but a fortress.
But the real action? That was inside, where a family dinner was about to go down — Turner style.
Amelia "Amy" Turner, our stunning and stubborn heroine, was the cause of the evening's excitement. Her family - imposing dad Richard, elegant mom Margaret, and their baby-faced son Benjamin - were already at the table, waiting for the guest of honour.
Their eyes flitted towards the entrance as Amy sauntered in, her flawless beauty sending sparks flying under the soft light of the chandelier. The look on her parent's faces was priceless: half dread, half anticipation.
It was time for yet another attempt at the great Turner tradition of 'arranged marriage matchmaking.'
"Keeping us waiting, princess?" Margaret quipped, her tone gentle but with a slice of reproach.
"Just tying up some work stuff, Mom," Amy replied, nonchalantly sliding into her chair. She shot her parents a look that screamed, 'Here we go again.'
Richard cleared his throat, nudging Margaret with an 'it's showtime' look. "Amy," he began, his voice ringing with authority, "we need to talk."
"About what? The hunky dude you've shortlisted this time?" Amy cocked an eyebrow. Her voice was all sugar and spice, laced with a dash of rebellion.
"Amy, there's no need for sarcasm. We just want you to be happy." Richard looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.
"What if your 'happy' isn't my 'happy'?" Amy countered, picking up her fork with gusto.
"I've told you a million times. I'm not in for this whole arranged marriage gig."
"But darling, Thomas is such a good catch. From a good family, well-educated..." Margaret ventured, her voice trailing off under Amy's stare.
"Oh, you mean the same Thomas who can't resist a game of poker? Or who transforms into the life of the party — at the local pub?" Amy smirked.
"How did you...?" Margaret looked like she'd been hit by a truck.
"Come on, Mom, did you forget your daughter is a kickass detective?" Amy said, the twinkle in her eye victorious.
"Let's just say our dear Thomas has a colourful side."
"Can't you just put your detective games aside and focus on your life?" Richard, exasperation etched on his face, sighed.
"Dad, my detective work is my life. And I kinda love it." Amy grinned.
