Delilah was unravelling.
She had burst through the grand front doors like a woman possessed, heels clacking a frantic tattoo across the marble that echoed like gunfire in the cavernous foyer. She did not spare a glance for Sienna— or the new parlour maid who had frozen mid-polish, staring as though Delilah had sprouted horns and a tail—nor did she pause to kick off her shoes with her usual disdainful grace.
Nothing mattered except the single, incandescent fact burning in her brain.
Phei is here.
Phei is here.
She needed to find him.
Needed to drag him upstairs to her bedroom—her sanctum sanctorum, the one room she had guarded like a dragon's hoard for last two weeks—and finally, finally surrender everything she had been hoarding for him alone.
She bolted to his old room first.
