The footsteps stopped right outside her door.
Seraphina's heart hammered, but she kept breathing slow and steady. Someone was out there. Listening. Testing if she was really asleep.
Just walk away. Please.
But whoever it was stayed put. She could feel their satisfaction through the door.
Then came a soft, pleased sigh.
Evelyne.
The silence went on forever. Seraphina could practically feel the smugness radiating through the wood. She had no idea what was going through her cousin's mind.
Outside the door, Evelyne's thoughts turned dark with satisfaction.
"When someone ends a long arrangement to marry another, that must mean something genuine?" How cute.
If only you knew who your husband spent the evening with, dear cousin.
Such clever words today. But here I am, still smelling like him while you sleep alone.
You asked about being permanent and secure? This is what real power looks like.
Tea party wins don't mean shit compared to this. You can play duchess all you want.
I'm the woman he actually wants.
The silence felt loaded with malice. Seraphina's muscles went stiff, but she didn't move. Couldn't move. She wanted to scream, to rip the door open and confront whatever twisted satisfaction was happening on the other side.
But she couldn't even breathe hard.
Evelyne shifted against the door, getting comfortable. The sound made it clear she was enjoying this moment.
Then came the final whisper, dripping with cruel satisfaction: "Sweet dreams, little cousin."
The footsteps started moving away. Slow. Like she had all the time in the world.
Evelyne hummed as she walked down the hall. The sound of someone who thought they'd already won.
Seraphina waited until everything went quiet before she let herself breathe normal again. Her hands shook with rage.
Oh, I will, cousin.
Because Evelyne had no clue what real power was. She thought fucking him meant winning.
But wars weren't won in bed. They were won with dirt, leverage, and waiting for the right moment to destroy someone.
They wanted to play dirty? Fine. She'd give them a taste of their own medicine.
Under her mattress were documents that could ruin everything Evelyne thought she had. Proof of affairs, money changing hands, stolen property that would turn everyone against House Vessant.
Let her be smug. Let her think she was untouchable.
The higher she climbed, the harder she'd hit the ground.
Morning came.
Seraphina woke up to sunlight and the sound of breakfast prep. Her whole body hurt from staying tense all night, but her brain was sharp.
Time to deal with whatever mess was waiting.
She picked emerald silk that made her eyes pop and looked confident without being flashy. Perfect duchess-who-just-won-a-social-battle energy.
If only they knew what she was really planning.
The morning papers sat by her plate, folded neat and tidy. Seraphina's heart sped up when she saw the society section.
"Duchess Seraphina's Graceful Triumph" in huge letters.
Holy shit. There was a whole article about yesterday's tea party, including quotes from the journalist who saw everything.
"With devastating gentleness and apparent confusion, the Duchess delivered what observers called 'the most elegant destruction in recent memory.' Lady Cordelia Thorne, former companion to Lord Vessant, left the gathering in visible distress after a series of innocent inquiries that laid bare uncomfortable truths about past arrangements."
Her hands shook reading it. Every word, every question she'd asked was right there for everyone to read.
But the business section made her blood freeze.
"Duke Vorenthal Backs Promising Merchant in Major Mining Venture"
It was a smaller article, stuck between boring stuff about grain and ships, but it might as well have been a death sentence.
"In a surprising move, Duke Caelan Vorenthal has provided both financial backing and political protection for independent trader Phinia Ashara's acquisition of the Branthorne Skyglass mining operation. The venture, valued at over two hundred thousand gold pieces, was secured after House Verenor withdrew their competing offer. Miss Ashara's rapid rise in commercial circles has industry observers speculating about her true backing and resources."
Reading Caelan's name in print brought back flashes of last night. The way he'd stepped forward when Marcus had been too friendly. How his jaw had tightened when the young lord kept leaning closer, trying to charm "Phinia" with that warm smile.
She'd dismissed it at the time. Business partners got protective of deals, right? But the memory felt different now, sharper.
The way Caelan had positioned himself between her and Marcus. How his voice had gone flat when he'd said they needed to leave. The possessive edge when he'd made it clear she was under his protection.
She shook her head. No point reading into it. Men like Caelan protected their investments. That's all she was to him - a useful ally in his war against Alaric.
But other memories crept in. The ride back to the estate. How solid and warm he'd felt against her back. The way her arms had fit around his waist like they belonged there. How her breath had caught when he'd told her to hold tight, his voice rougher than usual.
She'd blamed it on adrenaline at the time. The danger, the successful deal, the rush of working together. But pressed against him on that horse, feeling every movement of his body, every shift of muscle under her hands...
There had been a moment when she'd almost forgotten why she needed to keep her distance. When the steady rhythm of his breathing and the heat of his skin had made her want to lean in closer instead of pulling away.
Dangerous thinking.
She forced the memories down. Whatever she'd felt during that ride was just proximity and stress. Nothing more. Caelan was useful, maybe even trustworthy in his own way, but that didn't mean anything beyond their alliance.
She couldn't afford to read more into it than what it was - two people using each other to survive.
Her teacup clattered when she put it down.
Both her identities were in the morning papers.
The innocent duchess who charmed everyone with cute questions. And the mysterious merchant who just grabbed one of the biggest mining deals in the kingdom.
How long before someone figured out they were the same person?
House Verenor would dig. They'd want to know everything about Phinia Ashara - where she came from, how she got her money, who her friends were. The fake background she'd built wouldn't hold up forever.
But maybe this was actually good.
The tea party win had made people respect her. They were talking about the Duchess of Vessant like she mattered now. She wasn't invisible anymore, wasn't just Alaric's pretty wife.
If she played this smart, she could use the attention.
I need to move around freely. Stop sneaking everywhere like some criminal.
The idea hit her hard. She couldn't keep playing these games in the shadows. Eventually, she'd get caught and everything would fall apart.
But what if she didn't have to hide?
What if she could find a way to go wherever she wanted without anyone getting suspicious?
Her brain started working. Charity stuff. Social events. The kind of things people expected from a duchess who finally got confident.
I need Alaric to trust me. To let me do what I want.
The thought made her sick, but it made sense. If she could convince him she was grateful, devoted, wanted to make the Vessant name look good...
I'd have to touch him. Smile at him. Make him believe I actually give a shit.
Her stomach turned. Every touch would be fake. Every kiss would be strategy.
Could she do it? Could she seduce the bastard who killed her in another life?
You survived burning alive. You can survive this.
Heavy footsteps echoed outside before she could think more about it. Confident. Moving like someone who owned everything.
Seraphina's breath caught as they got closer to the dining room.
Speak of the fucking devil.
The door opened. Morning light outlined a familiar shape.
It was Alaric.