The words hung between them like smoke, choking the air. They know.
Camilla's pulse thundered in her ears. "Xavier, what do you mean—?"
"Not here." His hand found hers, firm and urgent, and before she could protest, he was pulling her through the trees.
They moved fast, the world reduced to the sound of crunching leaves and his steady breath just ahead of her. By the time they broke into a narrow hunting cabin hidden behind thick pines, her legs ached and her chest burned.
Xavier shut the door with a force that rattled the frame. Only then did he speak. "The people who were at the manor… they're not just guests. Some of them are connected to something darker. They wanted Adrian's bride selection for more than marriage."
Her heart lurched. "And what does that have to do with me?"
His gaze met hers, unflinching. "Because you weren't supposed to make it this far. And because… I couldn't keep my distance."
She blinked. "Xavier—"
He stepped closer, closing the gap until his presence swallowed the space around her. "I told myself I'd stay away. That I'd protect you without touching you. But every time I looked at you, I—" He broke off, his jaw tight, as though the words cost him.
The storm in his eyes was too much — part danger, part longing.
"What did the note say?" she whispered.
He hesitated. "That if I don't hand you over by midnight… they'll come for you themselves."
Her stomach dropped. "So, you're saying… I'm bait?"
"I'm saying," he murmured, his voice low and raw, "that the safest place for you right now is right here. With me."
She should have been afraid. She should have pulled away. But when his fingers brushed her cheek, the fear tangled with something far more dangerous — the pull of him, the heat simmering between them since the night they met.
"You don't make this easy," she whispered.
"I'm not trying to."
And then his mouth was on hers again — not desperate like in the clearing, but deliberate, claiming, the kind of kiss that felt like both a warning and a promise. She melted into it, into him, her hands curling against the solid warmth of his chest.
When they broke apart, her breath was unsteady.
"What happens at midnight?" she asked.
His lips curved — not with amusement, but with something darker. "Midnight is when I stop waiting for them to make the first move."