“Remember,” he said under his breath, voice calm but edged with warning. “We play the role. No cracks. No hesitation.”
Maxon paused just outside the ballroom doors, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses leaking through the polished wood. He adjusted his cufflinks once—slow, deliberate—then turned to Victoria.
Victoria crossed her arms, jaw tightening. “I am trying, okay?” she hissed back. “But you’re not Lewis.”
Maxon’s eyes flicked to the doors, then back to her. “Not here. Not now.”
Her laugh was brittle. “And when does this stop? When do we stop pretending?” Her voice dropped, frustration spilling through. “I didn’t sign up to play house with a ghost. I want this to end, Maxon. I want to be with Lewis as soon as possible, so we better end this.”
He held her gaze, unreadable. “It ends when it has to.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then Maxon straightened, the mask sliding back into place—composed, distant, controlled.
“Smile,” he said quietly. “They’re watching.”
Victoria exhaled sharply, then forced her expression into something soft, affectionate. She slipped her arm through his, fingers curling possessively as if it were natural—real.
Inside, though, her thoughts were anything but calm. She was already searching the room for Lewis, instinctively, desperately, as if he might appear and make sense of the mess they’d created.
She hated the waiting, the pretending, the way this charade refused to end. She wanted it over—wanted her life back, wanted clarity instead of lies layered over lies.
And more than anything, she couldn’t wait for Nadine to be gone from their lives entirely, erased like an inconvenient chapter. Then, she told herself, everything would finally fall into place.
The doors opened.
The ballroom of the Madeline Estate glimmered beneath crystal chandeliers, every surface polished to perfection for the matriarch’s birthday. Old money, old power, old bloodlines—everything Madeline stood for was on full display.
Madeline approached them slowly, her sharp eyes never leaving his face. Age had silvered her hair, but nothing dulled her instincts. She studied him the way she always had—like a chessboard she’d memorized decades ago.
“So,” Madeline said at last, her cane tapping lightly against the marble floor. “You’re really back.”
Maxon inclined his head respectfully. “Yes, Grandma.”