The parlor was all dark wood and leather and money. Bookshelves lined one wall, a fireplace dominated another. The air felt cooler in here, thinner somehow, like it had been filtered twice before anyone was allowed to breathe it.
Charlie rose from a low chair by the window.
If I’d sketched “ex-military billionaire,” I might have come up with him. Early thirties. Broad shoulders filling out a gray Henley, sleeves shoved up over forearms roped with lean muscle. Short, light-brown hair. Face unfairly symmetrical—square jaw, straight nose, full mouth that looked like it lived somewhere between easy grin and don’t-push-it.
His eyes—hazel, I realized as he came forward—flicked from Levi to me and back, taking in more than he let show.
“Levi,” Charlie said, stepping forward and offering his hand, though surprise flickered—quick, controlled. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Levi shook it once, firm. “Wasn’t planning to show up,” he replied. “Plans changed.”
Their voices were calm, but the air between them wasn’t. Not familiar. Not warm. More like two men quietly assessing whether the other was a threat.
A pulse of unease tightened in my chest.
“And you must be Amelia Emerson,” Charlie said, turning to me.
I took in the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way he held himself like someone used to being leaned on in emergencies.
“I don’tmustanything,” I said. “But yes.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ve read your work.”
“That’s what everyone says right before they tell me I’ve misunderstood them.”
“Have you?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But there’s still time.”
Levi made a low sound that might have been a warning. Or a laugh. Hard to tell with him.
“Please, sit,” Charlie said, gesturing toward a small arrangement of chairs and a sofa. “Teddy will bring coffee in a moment. Then maybe you can tell me why I suddenly have two of the most stubborn people on the Eastern Seaboard in my home.”
I chose the chair that gave me a clear view of both the door and the windows. Old habit. Levi took the one beside me, angled slightly toward the room, one ankle resting casually on his knee. It was a relaxed pose. It was also the kind you could snap out of in half a second, if things went sideways.
Charlie settled opposite us.
“You didn’t mention you were bringing company,” he said to Levi.
“She invited herself,” I said, before Levi could answer.
“I brought her,” Levi said at the same time.
Our eyes met. Sparks. The kind forged in bed and on battlefields—neither of which I planned on admitting to Charlie.
He watched the exchange with interest. “Good to know there’s consensus,” he said dryly. “Coffee?”
A knock sounded. Teddy slipped in with a tray. White porcelain cups, a French press, cream in a small pitcher, sugar in a cut-glass bowl, and a plate of biscuits that looked like they’d been painted with butter.
“Delphine insisted Ms. Emerson try her biscuits,” Teddy said. “She’s in the kitchen, if you need anything further.”
“Thank her, please,” Charlie said.
The exchange was smooth, practiced—like everyone here knew their roles and played them flawlessly. Too flawlessly. Places like this didn’t run on charm alone. They ran on structure, on hierarchy, on secrets tucked behind polished manners.
“How long have you been hosting Army strays?” I asked.
Charlie poured coffee, unbothered. “We take in all sorts,” he said. “Strays, lost causes, people the system doesn’t know what to do with.”
