Seraphina's hand trembled as she touched the estate's front door.
Not from nerves. From Caelan's pulse hammering through her veins like it belonged there.
This is a mistake.
They needed the secure location. But she also needed to stop thinking about how his breath caught when she mentioned the master study. How those architectural plans felt like promises.
Behind them, the carriage disappeared down the tree-lined drive. No witnesses. No escape.
Just her, him, and the permanent connection that made hiding impossible.
"The key," Caelan said. His voice rougher than brass keys warranted.
She turned it. Click.
Through the bond, she felt his heartbeat stutter.
We're really doing this.
The main hall stretched before them. Afternoon light streaming through tall windows. Empty. Waiting.
Perfect for their needs.
"Security assessment first," Seraphina said. Trying for professional distance.
Caelan nodded. Stepped closer to examine the door frame.
Close enough that his shoulder brushed hers.
Electricity raced through the bond. His sharp breath. Her pulse spiking. Both pretending it was about architectural inspection.
"Solid construction," he managed. "Defensible."
But his attention had shifted to sunlight catching her hair. She could feel that too. The want he was fighting.
Focus. Business first.
"The study," she said. "For planning."
They moved deeper into the house. Each step like walking toward something inevitable.
The master study was everything he'd promised. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Natural light. Massive oak desk perfect for strategic planning.
And a fireplace big enough for winter evenings that stretched long and intimate.
"This works," Seraphina said. Running her fingers along the desk's edge.
Through the bond, she felt his thoughts stutter. Not at her words. At the image they created. Her here, working late. Him bringing tea. Conversations starting professional, becoming something else.
"Logistics," he said quickly. "Timeline."
Right. D'Lorien estate evacuation. Documents, weapons, gold, staff. Everything moved in secret before Alaric suspected.
Caelan spread architectural plans across the desk. Official business.
Except every time their hands brushed reaching for documents, the bond flared.
"Three days," Seraphina said. "Maximum. Any longer raises questions."
"Agreed." His finger traced transport routes. "Archives first. Most sensitive."
She leaned closer to see his markings. Close enough to smell cedar soap and something darker.
Through the bond, she felt his reaction. How his breath caught. The effort to keep his hand steady.
He wants to touch me.
The thought blazed through their connection. His or hers, impossible to tell.
"The master bedroom," she said, then stopped. Heat flooded her cheeks.
Caelan went still. "What about it?"
"For the safe," she clarified quickly. "Document storage."
But damage done. Through the bond, she felt his mind conjure images. Her in that room. Them in that room. The bed dominating space like an unasked question.
"Of course," he said. "Storage."
Neither believed it.
They bent over plans together. Professional. Focused. Completely ignoring synchronized heartbeats.
"Loading dock access here," Caelan pointed. His sleeve brushed her arm.
Fire raced through the connection. Not just physical awareness. Emotional intimacy. How protective and possessive and desperately careful he felt.
"Staff quarters," Seraphina managed. "Yona and Liora need proper accommodations."
"And you?" The question slipped out.
Their eyes met. Through the bond, she felt his immediate regret. And underneath, the real question.
Where will you sleep? Close enough to find you if nightmares come?
"Haven't decided," she whispered.
But through the connection, he felt her answer. Close to you. Always close.
The moment stretched. Dangerous territory. One step forward and professional partnership became something else.
Footsteps on gravel outside broke the spell.
"Estate agent," Caelan said. "Final signatures."
Business. Contracts. Safe procedures that didn't require vulnerability.
Except signing documents together felt intimate when every emotion bled through. Her trembling hand. His steadiness anchoring her.
"Congratulations," the agent said. "The property is yours."
Ours, blazed through the connection. Caelan's thought, fierce and possessive.
After the agent left, they stood alone in their new headquarters.
"We should celebrate," Seraphina said softly.
Through the bond, she felt his pulse spike. The careful control he maintained. Want he wouldn't act on without permission.
"We should plan the move," he said instead.
But his eyes said something else.
At the Vessant estate, Alaric stood in their empty bedroom.
Seraphina had left for her charitable obligations days ago. The space felt hollow without her presence. Too quiet. Too cold.
He moved to her dressing table, fingers trailing over perfume bottles and jewelry boxes. Everything carried her scent. Lavender and something uniquely her.
When had he started craving that scent?
The silk dress from three nights ago lay draped over a chair. The midnight blue one that had made her eyes luminous during dinner. Midnight blue silk, still holding the shape of her waist. He remembered how she'd looked wearing it. How she'd looked taking it off.
That kiss.
The memory hit him like physical force. Her lips moving against his with unexpected passion. The way she'd initiated it, bold and wanting. How she'd traced his jaw afterward, looking at him like he was something precious.
He'd thought it was gratitude then. Simple appreciation for his patience with her charitable pursuits.
But lying awake afterward, he'd replayed every detail. How her breath had caught when he deepened the kiss. The way she'd melted against him, soft and yielding. The little sound she'd made when his hand tangled in her hair.
Had that been real?
The question tormented him now. Because somewhere between that kiss and this morning, everything had shifted. The careful distance he'd maintained, the calculated affection he'd shown - it all felt inadequate now.
He wanted more than her compliance. More than her grateful smiles and dutiful responses.
He wanted her to look at him the way she had that night. Like he was worth wanting.
Why hadn't he given her reason to want him before?
The realization cut deep. Months of marriage, and he'd treated her like a beautiful possession. Something to display, to control, to use when convenient. But never to cherish.
Never to love.
His reflection stared back from her mirror. When had he become the kind of man who inspired duty instead of desire? When had he stopped trying to earn her affection and simply demanded it?
She deserves better.
The thought should have been disturbing. Instead, it felt like truth settling into his bones. She deserved someone who noticed when she smiled genuinely versus when she performed. Someone who cared about her happiness beyond how it reflected on him.
Someone who loved her before demanding to be loved in return.
But the terrifying part? He was starting to suspect he could be that man. That beneath the possessiveness and control, something deeper had been growing. Something that made him want to be worthy of the woman she was becoming.
Something that made him ache when she wasn't here.
The clock chimed, marking another hour of her absence. Another hour of this hollow, restless hunger that felt too much like longing.
I love her.
The admission hit him like lightning. Not the calculated affection of convenient marriage. Not the possessive satisfaction of owning something beautiful.
Love. Real, desperate, consuming love for the woman who'd been sleeping beside him for months without his notice.
And he had no idea if he was too late to earn it back.
In the city, Marcus sat across from Evelyne in her private salon.
Two weeks had passed since their dinner. Two weeks of his devoted attention, his eager compliance, his complete focus on her every word.
The charm magic had held beautifully.
"You've been such wonderful company," Evelyne said, settling beside him on the silk settee. Her fingers traced idle patterns on the cushion between them. Close enough to touch. Close enough to reinforce her magical hold with proximity.
Marcus smiled with that soft, adoring expression she'd come to expect. "Being near you feels like breathing."
Perfect. The magical influence had deepened into something resembling genuine affection. Or close enough that the difference didn't matter.
"I've been thinking about our conversations," she continued, reaching for her wine glass with deliberate grace. "About your business interests. You mentioned that mining consultant again yesterday."
"Phinia." His attention focused completely on her, like she was the only thing worth noticing. "Did I bore you with too many details?"
Evelyne laughed, the sound calculated to seem delighted. "Hardly. I find ambitious women... fascinating. Especially ones who catch the attention of men like you." She sipped her wine, studying him over the rim. "Tell me, does she use charm to secure her partnerships? Personal appeal to smooth difficult negotiations?"
The question carried her assumptions about how women gained influence. Through manipulation, seduction, calculated performance. The way she operated.
Marcus blinked slowly, that dreamy compliance settling over his features. "Professional competence, mostly. She has this way of analyzing geographic surveys that makes complex decisions seem obvious."
"Surely not just technical knowledge?" Evelyne set down her glass with precision. "In my experience, successful women always have... additional tools. Little strategies for managing difficult personalities."
She was projecting. Assuming Phinia operated with the same calculated manipulation Evelyne had perfected.
"She's remarkably direct, actually." Marcus's voice carried that enforced sincerity of someone under magical influence. "No games or maneuvering. Just presents the facts and lets them speak."
How disappointing. Evelyne had hoped for something more interesting than boring honesty.
But something nagged at her. The way Marcus spoke about the woman. That note of respect that seemed genuine even under magical compulsion.
"Is that all?"
Marcus began speaking with that dreamy, compelled honesty. About Phinia's mineral expertise. Her systematic approach to investment analysis. Their profitable partnership arrangements.
Then his voice took on a slightly different quality, as if the magical pressure had loosened something deeper.
"She has backing," he said, the words flowing easier now. "Duke Vorenthal supports her ventures. Strategic partnership."
Evelyne's wine glass paused halfway to her lips. Her eyes sharpened with sudden interest.
There it is.
"Duke Vorenthal," she repeated, voice carefully neutral. But inside, everything clicked into place. Of course. No merchant woman achieved that level of success through mineral knowledge alone.
"How... close is their partnership?" The question carried deliberate weight.
"Professional," Marcus replied with that magical sincerity. "He values her expertise highly."
Evelyne's smile turned predatory. Professional. How quaint. As if she hadn't seen this exact pattern dozens of times before. Ambitious woman, powerful man, "strategic partnership" that everyone pretended was purely business.
"I see," she murmured, settling back against the cushions with satisfaction. "How perfectly... strategic of her."
Now everything made sense. Phinia's confidence, her resources, her remarkable success. The woman was simply better at playing the game than most. Using her assets - whatever they were - to secure ducal backing while maintaining the fiction of independent competence.
Rather impressive, actually.
"Marcus," she said softly, magical compulsion weaving through her voice like expensive perfume. "I want you to tell me everything about Phinia Ashara. Everything you know. Every conversation, every detail, all her tricks. Hold nothing back."
The command settled over him like silk. His eyes went vacant for a heartbeat, then refocused with absolute devotion.
"Everything," he said.
And Marcus told her everything.