My fingers curl into fists.
Of course.
Of course my enemies would wait for an opening this perfect.
A Laurent wife.
A scandalous marriage.
A whisper about revenge.
I close my eyes for a second.
I don’t want to think of her.
I don’t want her name in my head.
But here she is anyway.
Vivian.
Soft-mouthed, wild-tempered, too honest for her own good.
A woman who shouldn’t matter.
I want—more than anything—to believe she’s innocent.
But my entire life has taught me that trust is a luxury for fools.
And the timing…the timing is too perfect.
My enemies have been hunting for a way to drag the Rusnak name into the mud, and marrying a Laurent—already painted as a scandal in high society—gave them the perfect stage.
Whether she meant to help them or not…she opened the door.
And I’m the one paying for it.
The thought circles my mind like a knife. Unfair, irrational, cruel—yes. But it takes root anyway.
And once it settles, it makes perfect, vicious sense.
I no longer care about her feelings.
I no longer care about her intentions.
Whatever I do today—and from now on—will be selfish.
No more thinking about her. No more making space for softness that never should’ve been there in the first place.
“I know what to do.”
The words rip out of me, and before Sylvester can respond, I’m already moving—out of the study, down the hall, toward her room where she’s been hiding since yesterday.
I don’t knock. I don’t slow down. I don’t breathe.
I shove the door open.
She’s on the balcony, wrapped in the cold early morning light. Her skin looks almost translucent, her hair lifting slightlyin the breeze. She turns at the sound of the door and walks back inside, her face pale but steady.
