Her gaze flicked to me. “For now.”
That phrase again.
“You think I won’t last,” I said.
“I think most people mistake contracts for control.”
I almost smiled.
---
On the drive back, rain streaked down the windows like something trying to escape.
“You didn’t touch him,” Ethan said.
“That disappoints you?”
“No,” he replied quickly. “I just expected—”
“Emotion?”
“Yes.”
I turned my face toward the glass. “That would be dishonest.”
“You’re marrying him.”
“I’m stabilizing a failing empire,” I corrected. “Marriage is the packaging.”
He hesitated. “You’re not afraid?”
“I don’t trust fear. It clouds negotiation.”
His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.
“There’s something else you should know,” he said.
I waited.
“The Grant family has been reassigning internal security. They’re auditing external loyalties.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re watching everyone around you now. Including me.”
I looked at him. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” he said too quickly.
---
The east wing bedroom had already been rearranged by the time I returned to the estate.
My luggage sat neatly unpacked. My books shelved. Even my scarves had been hung in color order.
Someone had curated my existence.
I stood in the doorway, unsettled by the absence of chaos.
“Do you like it?” Clara asked from behind me.
“It’s efficient.”
“Efficiency is kindness here,” she replied. “We remove obstacles.”
I turned to face her. “Including people?”
She smiled thinly. “Sometimes.”
That night, I wandered the corridors unable to sleep. The house didn’t creak. It didn’t sigh. It absorbed sound like it was ashamed of it.
I found myself outside the west wing without remembering how I got there.
The door was ajar.
Lydia’s voice drifted out — low, warm, familiar.
“You shouldn’t keep hovering like that.”
Ethan answered her.
“I’m not hovering. I’m ensuring consistency.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
There was a pause. The kind that reveals a person more than words ever could.
“She isn’t who you think she is,” he said.
My fingers curled slowly at my side.
“You mean Isabella?” Lydia asked.
“Yes.”
“Because she negotiated her own value?”
“Because she wants power,” he replied. “That makes her dangerous.”
I stepped forward.
“Funny,” I said softly. “I always thought it was the people who pretend not to want power who did the most damage.”
They both turned.
Ethan’s face lost color. Lydia’s eyes widened a fraction before smoothing back into composure.