Morning.
The sun was a pale, hesitant shimmer through the gauzy curtains.
The house held its breath, the silence broken only by the distant, muted clatter from the kitchen and the soft, respectful footsteps of the staff, all careful not to disturb the heaviness that had settled overnight.
Felix descended the stairs slowly, his hand trailing the polished banister.
His eyes were shadowed from a sleepless night, but his posture was different—a calm, almost serene resolution had replaced the trembling uncertainty.
The war inside him was over; only the treaty remained to be signed.
At the dining table, Victor was already seated, scrolling lazily through his phone between bites of toast.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps, his face splitting into that familiar, easy grin.
"Well, look who's up with the sun," Victor said, his tone light and teasing. "You look better today, in-law. Did sleep finally decide to take pity on you?"
