She presses closer, fitting against him with the familiarity of decades. When she speaks again, her breath fans across his lips. “No matter how many pretty distractions you collect, darling, you always find your way back to me.”
His arms stay at his sides, but his fingers twitch. I tell myself it’s irritation. Frustration. Not something else.
He wants me.
He chose me.
This is her trying to sabotage what we have.
I understand him in ways she never could.
I’m different. Special.
I repeat the words silently, stacking them like bricks around my heart as his jaw tenses beneath her whispered taunt.
“I had the most fascinating conversation with Rowe this morning.” Vivienne lifts her chin, studying Alexander’s expression. Her body still presses into his, but her tone turns clipped. “I trust your reunion with our son was just as enlightening?”
“Your games grow tiresome,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice.
“Games?” Vivienne laughs softly. “Hardly a game when our son can barely stand to be in the same room as you.”
Alexander catches her other wrist, but the gesture lacks its usual commanding force. “That’s enough.”
“It never is with you,” she replies, her voice quiet and devastating. Her hand twists in his grip, fingers threading briefly with his. “That’s why we work. Why you always come back. Because I never bore you.”
“I believe you have a charity luncheon to attend,” he says coldly.
“So I do.” Her smile deepens, victory written across every inch of her. “Do give my regards to whoever’s filling your bed tonight.”
Her heels tap against polished marble as she retreats, the sound impossibly loud in the hush she leaves behind. I remain still in the alcove, my pulse ringing in my ears, trying to gather what’s left of my composure. And I wonder, for the first time, if I’ve been deluding myself more thoroughly than even Vivienne could manage.
Alexander finally meets my gaze, and something shifts across his face—too fleeting to decipher, too controlled to trust. The conservatory closes in now, the air soured by unspoken accusations and the scent Vivienne left behind.
“You’re back early,” I say, proud of how steady I sound when every breath scrapes my ribs.
He closes his eyes, not in exasperation, but in something quieter. Reflection? Hesitation? Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong to the man I know. Alexander Darkmoor never pauses. He commands and calculates. And yet here he stands, gathering himself before crossing theroom in slow, deliberate steps.
When he reaches for me, aiming to brush his lips against mine, I step back. The shock that crosses his face would be satisfying if my mind wasn’t screaming at me to stop being foolish.
“Luna?” His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
A bitter laugh bubbles up. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s exactly as it should be, isn’t it? Just another Sunday afternoon in your private wing.”
Stop it, I tell myself.You’re being petty. Reckless. The warning he gave me that first night echoes in my head—how crossing this line meant no return, no safety net. If this ends, I lose everything. The research, my position, my chance to prove myself. I’d be nothing again.
“Whatever Vivienne told you . . .” his tone softens, that familiar coaxing murmur designed to disarm. “She’s clawing for relevance. You’re too clever to fall for her theatrics.”
“Am I?” I study his face, searching for . . . something. Truth? Lies? Evidence he ever meant what he said. “Why are you back so early? I thought you had important work that couldn’t wait.On a Sunday.”
The words hang between us like poison darts and I see them land. But before he can craft another perfect explanation, his AetherLink chimes, and the curse that slips from his lips startles me. Control is everything to him, and that single word carries more weight than any justification could.
He grabs my hand, the urgency in his grip tempered by care. Always careful with me, as if I’m precious. Or perhaps something fragile he can’t afford to break. Not yet.
“We need to go. Now. There’s an issue.”
“What kind of issue?”
“The sort that doesn’t wait.” His gaze locks onto mine, and for a heartbeat I see it—uncertainty. It dulls the edges of his perfection, rendering him almost human. “Luna, please, I need you.”
