Despite my fear, I feel a smile tug at my lips. "You have a plan."
"Always." He kisses my forehead softly. "Trust me?"
I think about the workshop, the dragon sculpture, how he looked at my art as though it were sacred. How he’s never once made me feel less than whole.
"I trust you," I say.
"Good." He pulls me against his chest, holds me close. "Because here's what's really going to happen Friday night. Your parents are going to test me. I'm going to pass or fail on my own terms—not theirs. And you—" he tilts my chin up so I can see his face "—you're going to make a choice."
"What choice?"
"Them or me. Safety or freedom. Being Grace's replacement or being Anima Venti." His gaze is steady, certain. "You don't have to decide right now. But Friday, when they set their trap—you'll have to pick a side."
The words settle over me like a challenge. Like a promise.
"What if I choose wrong?" I whisper.
"There's no wrong choice," he says. "Only the honest one."
"That's not true." My voice is small. "If I choose them, I lose you. If I choose you, I lose everything else."
"You won't lose me." The promise is immediate. Fierce. "No matter what happens on Friday, I'm not going anywhere. Unless you tell me to leave, I'm staying."
"Really?"
"Really." He kisses my forehead again, soft and sure. "Someone needs to help you plan your escape. And I've got years of experience running from things that want to control me."
That surprises a laugh from me—sharp and slightly hysterical. "Is that what we're doing? Planning my escape?"
"Eventually." He tugs me more firmly to his side. "But first, we get through Friday. We face your parents together. And then—" his smile is soft, hopeful "—then we figure out what comes next."
I curl into him, letting his warmth and certainty soak into my bones. Lucky migrates from his bed to press against my legs, offering solidarity in the way only dogs can.
"I'm scared," I admit.
"I know." Draco runs his fingers through my hair, gentle and grounding. "But you're also brave. Braver than you think. You've been building a secret life for years. Making art and selling it and planning your independence." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "This is just the next step."
"What if they hate you?"
"Then they hate me." He shrugs, unconcerned. "I've been hated before. I survived."
"What if they forbid me from seeing you?"
"Do you want to see me?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll see me." His arms tighten around me. "Charity, I've spent my lifetime learning that the only person who gets to decide my life is me. Your parents don't own you. They've convinced you they do, but they don't." He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "You're twenty-five years old. You have your own money. Your own career. Your own dreams. The only thing keeping you in that mansion is fear of what happens if you leave."
The truth detonates in my chest, bright and brutal. Because he's right. Of course he's right. I've been staying because leaving is terrifying, not because I have to.
"After Friday," I say slowly. "After the dinner and everything that comes with it—will you help me? Help me figure out how to actually leave?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No doubt. "Whatever you need. Whenever you're ready. I'll help you build a life that's actually yours. We’ve already built some of the foundation."
I kiss him then—desperate and grateful and full of everything I don't have words for yet. He kisses me back with equal intensity, his hands gentle despite the fierceness of the embrace.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine, and I feel his smile against my lips.
