They lasted five days.
Five whole days of pretending everything was normal. Five days of avoiding phone calls, tiptoeing around Serathine's texts, and pretending that Windstone's silence was not, in fact, the smug quiet of a man who knew he was sitting on a live bomb.
Peace ended the moment a sleek silver envelope appeared on the breakfast tray, sealed with Duchess Serathine's insignia and the kind of handwriting that belonged on expensive ultimatums.
'Dinner tonight. Informal. Bring Trevor.'
Lucas stared at it as though it had personally insulted him. "She knows."
Trevor sipped his espresso, utterly calm. "She doesn't know. She suspects."
"Same thing."
Windstone, leaning against the counter, raised an eyebrow. "In Duchess Serathine's case, yes. The woman could detect guilt through a firewall."
Lucas groaned softly, pushing the invitation away. "She's inviting us to dinner because she already knows. And Cressida will be there."
