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C"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride"fell flat, devoid of warmth or ceremony, the priest declared. Liora turned, a flush coloring her cheeks as she faced Leander for the first time as his wife. It was done. Vows had been exchanged before their families; the contract, in every sense, was now sealed. When she lifted her eyes to her husband, however, she found his gaze detached, his expression unmoved. With what seemed like resignation, he inclined his head and brushed his lips against her cheek. Liora woke slowly, pushing herself upright in the silent room. For several moments she remained still before letting her eyes drift to the opposite side of the bed. It lay empty, as it had for two years. Releasing a quiet breath, she rose and moved toward the bathroom, stepping under the shower's steady stream. Two years earlier, she had married her princeor so she had allowed herself to believe. Leander Ravenswood was the grandson of Elowen Ravenswood, one of New York's most formidable business figures. In a world ruled by men, Elowen had carved her own empire and earned the title First Lady of Business, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with titans like Malachi Frostbane, Orion Silvermark, and Ronan Ironbriar. Her own son had shown little aptitude for commerce, so Elowen retained control of her company until her grandson demonstrated the acumen she demanded. She shaped him into her heir, preparing him to lead Ravenswood Incorporatedbypassing her son in a move that sent whispers through boardrooms. Yet this transition came with a condition: Leander must marry, and not a woman of his choosing, but one selected by Elowen herself. Elowen's final acquisition had been Blackwell Tech, the venture Liora's father had founded, lifted from obscurity, and ultimately driven to ruin. For as long as Liora could recall, her father had been enchanted by devices and circuitry. A competent programmer, he believed a technology firm would guarantee his fortune. But skill with computers did not grant wisdom in business. Mismanagement doomed the company, yet her father refused to concede. He approached rival firms, pleading for a buyout to sustain the lifestyle he cherished. Most dismissed him outright. Elowen Ravenswood, however, entertained his proposal. The agreement they reached granted Liora's father a premium over market value, shares in Ravenswood Inc., and a bride for Leander. Liora had protested when her father delivered the terms. She condemned the arrangementuntil a private meeting with Elowen altered her perspective. Reluctantly, Liora consented, though not before negotiating terms of her own. Rumors suggested Leander, too, had resisted his grandmother's design, but in the end he yielded, securing his role as CEO. Whether he, like Liora, had extracted concessions remained unknown to herand in the end, she supposed it mattered little. The wedding was scheduled. Liora had always imagined an autumn ceremony, but her father insisted on spring, unwilling to wait for his funds until after the vows were official. He left the planning to her, then slashed the already modest budget once a venue was booked. Working within constraints, however, was familiar territorya skill inherited from her mother. If her father's passion was technology, her mother's was restoration. She possessed a gift for seeing beauty in forgotten things, reviving them until they felt new again. Liora had learned at her side, scouring garage sales, thrift shops, and flea marketsa tradition she continued. With dwindling resources, she decorated the church and reception herself, crafting a repurposed elegance that felt both refined and intentional. Her gown was her mother's, altered by her friend Freya. Yet for all her effort, and despite the exclusive guest list, she seemed to have left no impression on her groomor on society. The few reviews she encountered suggested she fell far short of the Ravenswood name. Society's judgment she could withstand; it was her husband's quiet contempt that wounded. At the reception, he danced with her once, never meeting her eyeswhich was still more attention than her father or brother offered. Afterward, a limousine delivered them to a villa in Astoria, a wedding gift from Elowen. Leander reached the door first, holding it only briefly as she entered her new home. He handed her the keys and turned to leave. "Here you are, then. Good night." "What?" Liora stared. "Where are you going?" "I keep a condo downtown," he replied, tone edged with mockery. "Why would I stay?" "But this is" "Did you imagine this was a real marriage?" he interrupted, a cold laugh escaping him. "It's a performance, orchestrated by my grandmother. It means nothing." Then he was gone. And so her marriage began. In two years, Liora saw Leander only when his public image required it. He would instruct her to meet him at some event, where she would walk beside him like a polished accessory. Once he tired of her presence, he sent her away with a warning not to cause embarrassment before she returned homealone. No wonder the color had slowly drained from her cheeks, or that weight had slipped from her frame without appetite to sustain it. They never dined together, never shared even a trivial conversation. He made no effort to know herno effort at all. Chapter 2 Though they meticulously upheld the fa?ade of a contented couple, high society proved adept at interpreting their silent discord. As Leander Ravenswood's wife, Liora ought to have been deluged with invitations to galas and soires, yet apart from a handful from acquaintances, society omitted her with the same indifference her husband displayed. She could endure that exclusion it was the other matter that shredded her composure. Emerging from the shower, she secured a towel and entered the bedroom just as her phone chimed with a new notification. Her jaw tightened as she approached the bed and glimpsed the sender: Brielle. Drawing a steadying breath, she placed the phone face down, refusing to unlock the screen. Brielle Voss had been childhood friends with Thalia Ravenswood, Leander's sister. She had grown up intertwined with the Ravenswood siblings, their lives woven together. Consequently, Leander had installed her as his personal secretary, though Liora understood their connection ran far deeper. Brielle missed no opportunity to remind herthrough meticulously timed messagesof Leander's attentions to her, or the intimacies they shared during their clandestine meetings. Liora had long ceased reading the texts, yet they arrived each morning with cruel regularity. And Brielle's were not the only messages. Two more chimes followed in quick successionThalia and her mother, Patricia. Liora ignored these as well. Their content never varied. Thalia's would interrogate her for obstructing the 'true love' between Leander and Brielle, while Patricia's would ponder, with chilling civility, why Liora had not yet ended her life, listing household items that might facilitate the task. Liora's personal favorite remained the time Patricia had suggested the kitchen knife set, a wedding gift from Elowen herself. The messages she could disregard. Facing them in person proved more difficult. Fortunately, such encounters were rare, confined largely to obligatory holiday gatherings at the Ravenswood estate. There, at least, Elowen's imposing presence tempered their hostility, as neither woman dared displease the family matriarch, who consistently treated Liora with warmth. While Leander viewed her as a mere inconvenience, Liora was unmistakably Elowen's favored choice. Yet Elowen could not be omnipresent, and Leander never once intervened on her behalf. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Liora walked to the kitchen. She filled a kettle and set it on the stove. Upon first occupying the villa, a housekeeper had been employed, but Liora grew weary of the woman's unspoken pity and eventually released her with a substantial severance and strong recommendations. At times, she missed the companionship, but the house was manageable aloneespecially since she only inhabited three rooms, leaving the remainder sealed and silent. When the kettle whistled, she lifted it from the burner and poured steaming water into a cup. After a moment's deliberation, she selected her tea for the morning and carried it to the table. Opening her laptop, she took a sip while the system awoke. Once it was ready, she opened her most recent document and began to read where she had last paused. I wake to the familiar, comforting scent of musk and Old Spice. My eyes open on the face of the man who has effortlessly claimed my heart. A shadow of stubble softens his defined jaw, and waves of brown hair fall carelessly across his forehead. My fingers yearn to thread through those locks, but I resist, unwilling to disturb his sleep. Silently, I slip from the bed, draping my bare form in his discarded shirt before padding out of the room. After so many years resigned to spinsterhood, this romance catches me entirely off guard. Yet there is an undeniable magnetism about him. He holds my attention as no one else ever has, and his gaze, perpetually seeking me, suggests the feeling is mutual. In truth, he almost compromises our cover during our stakeout at the underground gambling den, though fortunately, his prowess in a fight matches his talents in bed. A tremor runs through me at the mere memory of his touch, of kisses that linger. Shaking away the thought, I enter the kitchen to prepare my morning pot of tea, switching on the television to occupy my restless mind. I settle on the couch with a cup of chamomile and turn my attention to the news broadcast. In other news, Prince Adrian has at last announced his long-anticipated engagement to Princess Vivienne. The striking couple receives guests at the royal estate this past Tuesday to confirm their forthcoming marriage The teacup falls from my grasp, shattering on the floor. I stare, frozen, at the image on the screen. It is Adrian my Adri There can be no mistake. My Adri is a prince and he is promised to another. How? How has my intuition failed so completely? How can he have deceived me this way? Is this all merely a final indulgence before his wedding? Calm yourself, Seraphina. It must be an error. Surely? Yet despite every frantic effort to rationalize the scene before me, the truth is inescapable. My prince charming is, in fact, a prince and he belongs to someone else. So what, then, am I to do? Chapter 3 Liora leaned back in her chair, her eyes lingering on the final line. Yeswhat, indeed, was she to do? From her earliest years, two passions had anchored her: accompanying her mother on antiquing excursions, and writing. As a child, she had always kept a notebook close, its pages steadily filling whenever inspiration whispered to her. She could no longer trace the precise moment Seraphina Charles had first taken shape in her mind, but she recalled weaving adventure after adventure, gradually refining her heroine. Seraphina had undergone many transformationsa fairy princess, a pirate captain, even, in one peculiar iteration, a cyborgbefore Liora finally settled on her current incarnation: a psychic-medium and tarot reader who solved mysteries. Readers had embraced Seraphina's pursuit of truth and justice across six published volumes. When Liora was young, her mother had offered a simple piece of advice: write what you know. To ensure Seraphina's exploits felt authentic, Liora had undertaken French cooking courses, apprenticed with a renowned photographer, competed in a rodeo, skydived, rock-climbed, scuba dived, and journeyed to distant localesfrom the Sahara to Paris to the Virgin Islands. Her family, naturally, remained unaware of all of it. After cancer claimed her mother, Liora's father and brother retreated into the world of circuitry and code, leaving her largely to her own devices. When her father's company briefly flourished, she and her brother were enrolled in an exclusive new school. There, however, her classmates were far from welcoming to someone they deemed new money. In her old school, she had been mocked as a bookish outsider; in the new one, she was ostracized for lacking the proper pedigree. Only one person showed her genuine kindness: Astrid Starling. The daughter of an editor and publisher, Astrid shared Liora's love of stories and insisted on reading every Seraphina manuscript. Their friendship endured through high school and into college, where, at Astrid's urging, Liora submitted her latest story to Astrid's father. To her astonishment, he adored it and immediately drafted a publishing contract. Unwilling to face her family's scorn or curiosity, Liora's sole condition was to publish under a pseudonym and preserve her anonymity. Astrid and her father were disappointedauthor appearances were central to any book campaignbut Liora proposed she could still make public appearances while concealing her face beneath a wig and sunglasses. The idea delighted Astrid, and together they constructed a persona. Since the stories were written in the first person, Liora adopted the pen name Seraphina Charles and fashioned her public look to mirror the character's. Seraphina possessed dark hair, so Liora and Astrid sourced a suitable wig to conceal her dark blonde locks. To shield her features, they selected a pair of sunglasses with wide circular lenses. On book tours, she wore vibrant red lipstick and an eclectic array of thrift-store outfits. Astrid often remarked that when Liora was in character, even she struggled to recognize her. With the disguise perfected and the contract signed, Liora could finally relish the rewards of her labor while remaining safely obscured, knowing only three people in the world knew the truth. Yet not even Liora had anticipated just how beloved Seraphina would become. Her debut novel, The Wolfsbane Journals, climbed swiftly to the top of the charts, leaving readers eager for more. That first story had been relatively grounded, set in a New York high school and drawing upon Liora's own experiences both as a student and a student teacher. For Seraphina's next adventure, Liora desired something more exotic. With royalty checks depositing six figures into her account, she traveled to Paris, explored the city, enrolled in French culinary classes, worked in a bakery, and befriended a noted photographer who taught her the craft. All of this research eventually crystallized into The Oleander Enigma. And so it continuedher own experiences became the clay from which Seraphina's world was shaped. At times, the boundary between her reality and the fiction grew faint. Perhaps that was why, when readers pleaded for a love interest, Liora introduced Adrianand with him, Seraphina's star-crossed romance. But did it truly have to end in sorrow? Even if her own story lacked a happy ending, perhaps Seraphina's need not. Where, exactly, did fantasy end and reality begin? Liora still had no answer. But she kept writing, clinging to the hope that one day she might discover it. "Leander Leigh! Heyearth to Leander!" Cassian's voice finally broke through, sharp enough to seize his friend's attention. Leander swept a hand through his wavy brown hair and fixed his gaze on the man before him. Cassian had been his friend since their primary school days. Groomed to become a meticulous and relentless researcher, Cassian had proven himself invaluable both as a manager of personnel and a gatherer of intelligence. Leander could think of no one better suited to stand beside him as he stepped into his grandmother's formidable shoes. Together, they had formed an indefatigable team, securing several decisive victories for the company's growth and stability. He might not yet operate on his grandmother's level, and perhaps he still trailed figures like Jasper Frostbane and Tristan Silvermark by a step or twobut the gap was narrowing. "Yes. What is it?" Leander asked, his tone edged with a reminder that Cassian was, in this room, also an employee. "A few matters. Soren Wraithborne called again," Cassian said, noting Leander's immediate scowl. "And what does he want this time?" "A loan." Chapter 4 Leander released a derisive snort. "Is he serious? The next time he calls, inform him only a fool would assist someone who managed to offend Malachi Frostbane. He can resolve his own issues. What else?" "The Fortune 500 Gala is tomorrow evening." "That again," Leander sighed, the weariness evident in his voice. The Gala was an annual, deliberately informal gathering designed to foster connections among New York's elite, facilitating the exchange of ideas and investment in emerging ventures. He could no longer recall its originator, but it was an event his grandmother had never missedand as her heir, neither could he. The Gala itself wasn't the burden; the obligation to attend with his insipid, pallid wife was. Liora Blackwell. To this day, his grandmother's rationale eluded him. Admittedly, she was pleasant to look upon, but she was a schoolteacher. She stood no chance of holding her own against women like Anwen Frostbane, the renowned photographer S. Ashford, or Callista Silvermark, daughter of Ronan Ironbriar and a restaurant entrepreneur in her own right. To compete on equal footing with Jasper and Tristan, he required a consort of comparable caliber. He understood his grandmother's desperation for an heir, but surely there were limits. Yet the terms of their agreement prevented him from divorcing Liora without substantial causecause sufficient to satisfy his grandmother. Thus, he remained shackled to an inadequate partner in a ruthless world that discarded laggards without a second thought. "Very well. Contact my bride and inform her of the time," Leander said, his tone laced with resignation. Cassian winced at his callousness but dutifully sent the message. Several minutes passed before a reply arrivedan unusual delay, and the response itself was even more unexpected. Noting his assistant's frown, Leander inquired, "What is it?" "She states she is feeling unwell and will be unable to attend." "Good," Leander exhaled, a wave of relief washing over him. "I'll be spared her company." "Leigh, if she's ill enough to remain at home, shouldn't you consider ensuring she receives care?" "If it's that severe, she can summon a car herself," Leander dismissed the concern with a wave. "Notify my sister that I'll require her accompaniment. Arriving unescorted to this event would be unsuitable." "Understood." Cassian's frown deepened, but he complied. A distinct foreboding settled over him; it was shaping up to be a protracted and trying evening. Leander emerged from the car, extending a hand to assist his sister. Though separated by a few years, their resemblance was striking. As always, Thalia was adorned in a breathtaking gown, a glittering diamond necklace and earrings, and impeccably applied makeup. She embodied the quintessential heiress, complete with the requisite demeanor and figure. If only his wife possessed half her allure. "Ahem." A voice from within the limousine reminded him of his other passenger. Suppressing an eye roll, Leander reached back in to help Brielle alight. Like Thalia, she wore a shimmering gown, accented by a sapphire necklace. Though her family's means were more modest, she never lacked for appropriate attire. Leander had only requested his sister's presence, yet Brielle, as ever, had contrived to join them. As his secretary, her attendance could be marginally justified, he supposed. Brielle threaded her arm through his left, while Thalia claimed his right. The trio proceeded inside, with a watchful Cassian trailing behind. The Gala was, as customary, held within a spacious reception hall. This venue featured expansive windows offering a spectacular panorama of the city lights. The women remained at his side as Leander commenced his rounds, exchanging greetings with familiar faces. He introduced his sister and secretary to those who inquired, though the expectation was for them to remain composed and silent unless directly addresseda rule Liora had followed meticulously, but one Thalia and Brielle seemed intent on flouting. Their chatter provoked uneasy glances from several guests, looks Leander found difficult to interpret: a blend of distaste, bewilderment, and open disapproval. Completing his initial circuit of the room, Leander was taken aback to spot Jasper Frostbane in attendance alongside Anwen. This was not their typical venue; the couple usually favored more family-oriented events. Though surprised, Leander recognized an invaluable opportunity. Securing a meeting with Jasper was notoriously difficult, given the man's prolonged stays in Paris. "Jasper, a pleasure to see you," Leander greeted. "Leander," Jasper replied with a polite smile that quickly faded into a contemplative frown as his gaze shifted to Leander's companions. "This is my sister, Thalia, and my secretary, Brielle." "Charmed, I'm sure," Brielle simpered, earning a sharp, disapproving glance from Jasper. "Did Liora not accompany you?" Anwen asked, pointedly disregarding the other two women. "Who? Oh, no. She was feeling unwell and remained at home," Leander explained. "I do hope she's alright. I was looking forward to speaking with her. It feels an age since we last talked." "Why would you possibly want to converse with that tedious creature?" Thalia laughed, her tone dismissive. "Is that any way to speak of your sister-in-law?" Jasper's voice was cold, his glare fixed on Thalia. "It's not as though she's of any consequence," Thalia shrugged, unperturbed. Jasper's eyes flicked to Leander, expecting a reprimand. None came. Anwen exchanged a concerned look with her husband before saying, "Please convey my best wishes to her. I hope to see her as soon as she's recovered." Leander offered a vague nod as Jasper and Anwen made their departure, clearly eager to distance themselves. While Jasper had previously entertained business proposals from Leander, he now saw no merit in continuing such associations, either present or future. It was prudent to keep Frostbane interests far removed from Ravenswood affairs, and he mentally noted to discuss these observations with March and his father. Eventually, Leander made his way to the bar, ordered his usual drink, and contemplated his next move. The night promised to be long; he needed to maximize its potential. He dispatched Thalia and Brielle to mingle with the other spouses, hoping to broaden his network. Thalia was adept at such social maneuvering, and Leander felt confident she would advance his interestsfar more effectively, he was certain, than Liora ever could. Chapter 5 "London Bridge is falling down, down, down," Leander slurred, swaying dangerously near the curb. Only Cassian's swift intervention kept him from lurching into the path of an oncoming cab. Grabbing his boss by the shoulders, Cassian steadied him, his eyes scanning the street impatiently for the limousine. When it finally pulled up, he all but shoved Leander into the rear compartment before turning on the driver. "Where were you? Taking a scenic tour? When I call for the car, I expect it to be here!" "Sorry, sir. It's my first night on" "I don't need excuses." "Apologies, sir." "And save the apologies. What's your instruction?" "Right. Um is Mr. Ravenswood alright?" "He's fine. He's had a bit too much to drink. Your job is to get him home and ensure he makes it inside. I don't want a public disturbance or an indecency charge on my hands. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "Good." "Sir, what about the ladies?" "Forget them. I'll see to them. Just focus on him." As the car pulled away, Cassian let out a long breath, massaging his temples. He could only hope the damage from tonight was containable. His apprehension about bringing Thalia and Brielle had been justified. All evening, snippets of conversation had swirled around Leander. "If that woman's a secretary, I'll eat my hat," one guest had chuckled. "I doubt she knows a filing cabinet from a handbag." "The only thing she's likely filing is his personal correspondence, if you catch my meaning." "Really? And what of his wife?" "Have you ever actually seen them together? She's elegant, I'll grant you, but there's no warmth there. A man has needs." "I suppose. Poor woman." "Oh, I'm sure she's content. Probably cares more about her allowance than his whereabouts." "How many times have you been divorced?" "Three." "A telling pattern, wouldn't you say?" "What's that supposed to mean?" "Jasper has been married once, and seems perfectly content. Tristan as well." "Well" "Besides, I don't think the wife is as naive as you assume. I doubt she's ill at all." While Leander had cited Liora's illness as the reason for her absence, most interpreted it as a flimsy pretext to keep her away from his apparent mistress. Leander's indifference toward his wife was an open secret, and her rare appearances only fueled speculation of an affair. Brielle, clinging to Leander all night like a second skin, had done nothing to dispel the notion. Compounding the disaster was Jasper Frostbane's very public coldness toward Leander upon his arrival. That single snub had effectively marked Ravenswood as toxic. If the Frostbanes wanted no part of him, others would follow suit. The resulting isolation had driven Leander to drink more heavily than usual, culminating in the present spectacle. Cassian sighed deeply. The week ahead promised to be arduous. The violent slam of a door jolted Liora from sleep. She sat up, quickly wrapping herself in a robe before stepping cautiously into the hallway, where she collided with the last person she expected to see. "Leander? What what are you doing here?" His answer was to pull her roughly against him, his mouth claiming hers in a deep, invasive kiss. The taste of whiskey was overwhelming. His tongue pushed past her lips as his hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging in. She managed to turn her face away, breaking the kiss, but lacked the strength to free herself from his embrace. "Leander, are you drunk?" she asked, though the pungent smell of alcohol made the question absurd. "Only for you," he slurred, lifting her off her feet. "Leander! Put me down!" "Oh, I'll put you down." He stumbled, and they fell together onto the bed. His mouth found hers again, silencing her struggles. His hands moved over her body with a possessive urgency, cupping her breast through the thin fabric before tearing the robe open, seeking bare skin. The sheer force of him shocked her. This was not the cold, detached man she knew. Yet a treacherous part of hera part she had long suppressedhad fantasized about such a moment: raw and wanting. Her body, untouched until now, responded as if set alight, each new sensation foreign and electrifying. He murmured incoherently against her neck, his lips trailing downward before taking her peaked nipple into his mouth. A low moan escaped her at the strange, exquisite friction. She squirmed as a deep, dormant ache awoke within her, stirred to life by his touch. Was she losing her mind? His hand slid between her thighs, stroking the sensitive skin before pushing aside the barrier of her panties. A single finger entered her, and she cried out at the sharp, intimate invasion. A confusing torrent of pleasure and pain swept through her, and her hips moved of their own accord against his hand. "Yeah you like that," he grunted into her neck. "There's more" She was moaning now, her body slick with sweat, moving with a rhythm she didn't consciously dictate, chasing a release it instinctively craved. With a groan, he wrestled out of his clothes, then stripped away what remained of hers. Her eyes widened at the sight of himfully erect and glistening. A whimper caught in her throat at the thought of accommodating him, but he gave her no time to adjust. He positioned himself over her and thrust in deeply, sheathing himself past a barrier she hadn't fully understood existed. A sharp cry was torn from her at the sudden, searing fullness, but he was already moving, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm to which her body, astonishingly, began to synchronize. The initial pain gradually receded into a throbbing, building heat. He kissed her again, his tongue mirroring the invasion below, and she felt herself spiraling toward a precipice. "That's it that's what you want, isn't it, Bri?" The words sliced through the haze of sensation like shards of ice. "W-what?" she gasped, her body freezing even as it trembled on the brink. "Leigh what did you call" Her protest dissolved into a helpless moan as his final, forceful thrusts pushed her over the edge, her climax wrenching through her just as he spilled himself inside her with a low, satisfied groan. Spent, he withdrew and collapsed beside her, succumbing almost instantly to a drunken stupor. Liora lay next to him, motionless. Shivers wracked her frame as she slowly curled into herself. Bri. He had called her Bri. As in Brielle. In the one moment he had finally touched her, in the intimacy she had foolishly allowed herself to crave, he had been envisioning another woman. The man she lovedthe man who wanted nothing to do with herhad taken her, and in his mind, he had been with his mistress. Hot, silent tears blurred the dark room, tracing paths down her cheeks. Leander began to snore, peaceful in his oblivion, while the fragile remnants of her world collapsed into dust around her. Chapter 6 Liora dragged her throbbing form into the bathroom, collapsing under the shower's scalding stream. She felt soiled, violated. Was this to be her existence? And what of Seraphina? What would she have done? A long while passed before her trembling subsided. Her face was flushed and swollen from weeping; her skin stung from vigorous scrubbing. Yet the physical discomfort finally sharpened her mind into clarity. The fantasies she had nurtured since girlhood were just thatfantasies. Leander would never desire her, nor waste a moment's concern on her. He wanted another woman, and he would have her, regardless of his marriage to Liora. But Liora refused to linger as the scorned wife. This was her life, and she would dictate its conclusion. Unsteadily, she rose, shut off the water, and stepped out. Wrapped in a towel, she stood before her closet, surveying its contents. It was filled with high-end designer garments, yet none felt like her ownall neutral tones, occasional pale blues. She yearned for the warm hues of autumn, for cuts that celebrated her shape rather than rendering her formless. Moving to a dresser at the back, she retrieved worn jeans and a soft sweater. The day was damp and chilly; she dressed for warmth, moving gingerly around her aches. Then she turned to the bedside table, quietly gathering her laptop, phones, and charging cables, tucking them into a leather attach. These were the only possessions she truly neededthe only ones that belonged to her alone. As she straightened, she froze. Leander murmured indistinctly in his sleep; she caught something that sounded like yeah, you like it like that, before his breathing deepened again into rhythmic snores. Liora stared, committing this final image to memory. This was the last time she would lay eyes on him. From this moment forward, they were strangers. They meant nothing to one another. With resolve, she slid her wedding bands from her finger and placed them beside the lamp. Then she walked out of the room. Leaving everything else untouched, she pulled on a pair of sneakers and exited the villa. The door shut firmly behind her with a definitive clicklocked, her keys left inside. There would be no return. She made her way down the driveway to the sidewalk, turned left, and retrieved the older-model phone Leander had given her shortly after their wedding. She powered it off and dropped it back into her bag. From another pocket, she drew a newer phoneone she had bought for herself. Opening a ride-share app, she requested a pickup at the next corner, then dialed a memorized number. Though the hour was late, the call was answered on the second ring. "Hey, Liora-Belle. Everything okay? It's not like you to call so late." "Astrid, I'm coming over. I need to talk to you." "You sound shaken. Have you been crying?" "I'm all right. I'll explain when I get there." "I'll be waiting." "See you in forty." Liora ended the call as a silver van pulled to the curb. She climbed in without looking back. Leander stirred with a groan. He pushed himself upright, rubbing his temples against the dull ache forming there. Glancing down, he was mildly surprised to find himself unclothedthough sleeping without attire was not unheard of for him. More puzzling was the beige bedding. In fact, the entire room was beige, and it was decidedly not his bedroom at the condo. His gaze swept the space. The other side of the bed lay empty, though the impression in the sheets suggested someone had recently been there. Rising unsteadily, he stumbled toward the bathroom, hoping a shower might clear the fog in his mind. He recalled attending the Gala with Thalia and Brielle, but beyond that, his memory dissolved into fragmented, hazy scenes. Just how much had he drunk to reach this state? After showering, he ventured cautiously into the walk-in closet. Only one side showed signs of use, filled with sensible, understated women's clothing. Realization finally dawned: he was in the villa. Which meant Leander stepped back into the bedroom, staring at the rumpled bed. Slowly, the pieces connected. Clearly, Cassian had noted his inebriation and arranged a carbut there must have been a miscommunication. Instead of his condo, the driver had brought him here. A copy of the villa's keys was on his ring, though he had never once used them. In fact, the last and only time he had set foot here was on his wedding night, when he had abandoned his wife to the empty house. That explained the unfamiliarity of the room, and the absence of his own clothes. But where was his insipid little wife? Frowning, Leander noticed the heap of clothing on the floor. Warily, he gathered the garments and dumped them onto the bed, sorting his own from the mingled women's items. A slow anger began to simmer within him. Had she truly taken advantage while he was incapacitated? Was she utterly without shame? He would not tolerate it. Locating his phone, he dialed Cassian. His harried assistant answered instantly. "I'm at your condo. Where are you?" "Where do you think? Why the hell am I at the villa?" "The villa? Damn. The driver was new. I told him to take you homehe must have misunderstood." "Bring me clothes and come get me. Now." "On my way." Leander ended the call and stalked toward the bedroom door, raising his voice. "If you think this is amusing, I assure you I do not!" Wrapped only in a towel, he entered the kitchenempty. He turned, checking the study and guest rooms down the hall. Each was silent, untouched. "I am not playing hide-and-seek!" he called out, his voice echoing. "Get out here and explain yourself. Liora!" Only silence answered. Where was she? Hadn't she claimed to be ill? Or was that a ruse to make him appear neglectful in front of Jasper Frostbane at the Gala? A knock at the front door interrupted his thoughts. Grumbling, he unlocked and opened it to find Cassian holding a duffel bag. Cassian's eyes swept over him, taking in his state of undress. "Not sure this is the neighborhood for answering doors dressed like that." Snatching the bag, Leander retreated to the bedroom to change. Cassian lingered in the entryway, quietly surveying the interior. The villa was still. Eerily so. Despite two years of occupancy, it bore no imprint of Liora. No photographs, no personal trinkets, nothing to soften the space. It felt like a staged showhomeimpersonal, devoid of life. Cassian frowned. It wasn't natural. Didn't most people collect traces of themselves? "So where is she?" he asked as Leander reemerged, now dressed in a crisp suit. "How should I know? If she has any sense, she'll keep her distance after last night."
C"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride"fell flat, devoid of warmth or ceremony, the priest declared. Liora turned, a flush coloring her cheeks as she faced Leander for the first time as his wife. It was done. Vows had been exchanged before their families; the contract, in every sense, was now sealed. When she lifted her eyes to her husband, however, she found his gaze detached, his expression unmoved. With what seemed like resignation, he inclined his head and brushed his lips against her cheek. Liora woke slowly, pushing herself upright in the silent room. For several moments she remained still before letting her eyes drift to the opposite side of the bed. It lay empty, as it had for two years. Releasing a quiet breath, she rose and moved toward the bathroom, stepping under the shower's steady stream. Two years earlier, she had married her princeor so she had allowed herself to believe. Leander Ravenswood was the grandson of Elowen Ravenswood, one of New York's most formidable business figures. In a world ruled by men, Elowen had carved her own empire and earned the title First Lady of Business, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with titans like Malachi Frostbane, Orion Silvermark, and Ronan Ironbriar. Her own son had shown little aptitude for commerce, so Elowen retained control of her company until her grandson demonstrated the acumen she demanded. She shaped him into her heir, preparing him to lead Ravenswood Incorporatedbypassing her son in a move that sent whispers through boardrooms. Yet this transition came with a condition: Leander must marry, and not a woman of his choosing, but one selected by Elowen herself. Elowen's final acquisition had been Blackwell Tech, the venture Liora's father had founded, lifted from obscurity, and ultimately driven to ruin. For as long as Liora could recall, her father had been enchanted by devices and circuitry. A competent programmer, he believed a technology firm would guarantee his fortune. But skill with computers did not grant wisdom in business. Mismanagement doomed the company, yet her father refused to concede. He approached rival firms, pleading for a buyout to sustain the lifestyle he cherished. Most dismissed him outright. Elowen Ravenswood, however, entertained his proposal. The agreement they reached granted Liora's father a premium over market value, shares in Ravenswood Inc., and a bride for Leander. Liora had protested when her father delivered the terms. She condemned the arrangementuntil a private meeting with Elowen altered her perspective. Reluctantly, Liora consented, though not before negotiating terms of her own. Rumors suggested Leander, too, had resisted his grandmother's design, but in the end he yielded, securing his role as CEO. Whether he, like Liora, had extracted concessions remained unknown to herand in the end, she supposed it mattered little. The wedding was scheduled. Liora had always imagined an autumn ceremony, but her father insisted on spring, unwilling to wait for his funds until after the vows were official. He left the planning to her, then slashed the already modest budget once a venue was booked. Working within constraints, however, was familiar territorya skill inherited from her mother. If her father's passion was technology, her mother's was restoration. She possessed a gift for seeing beauty in forgotten things, reviving them until they felt new again. Liora had learned at her side, scouring garage sales, thrift shops, and flea marketsa tradition she continued. With dwindling resources, she decorated the church and reception herself, crafting a repurposed elegance that felt both refined and intentional. Her gown was her mother's, altered by her friend Freya. Yet for all her effort, and despite the exclusive guest list, she seemed to have left no impression on her groomor on society. The few reviews she encountered suggested she fell far short of the Ravenswood name. Society's judgment she could withstand; it was her husband's quiet contempt that wounded. At the reception, he danced with her once, never meeting her eyeswhich was still more attention than her father or brother offered. Afterward, a limousine delivered them to a villa in Astoria, a wedding gift from Elowen. Leander reached the door first, holding it only briefly as she entered her new home. He handed her the keys and turned to leave. "Here you are, then. Good night." "What?" Liora stared. "Where are you going?" "I keep a condo downtown," he replied, tone edged with mockery. "Why would I stay?" "But this is" "Did you imagine this was a real marriage?" he interrupted, a cold laugh escaping him. "It's a performance, orchestrated by my grandmother. It means nothing." Then he was gone. And so her marriage began. In two years, Liora saw Leander only when his public image required it. He would instruct her to meet him at some event, where she would walk beside him like a polished accessory. Once he tired of her presence, he sent her away with a warning not to cause embarrassment before she returned homealone. No wonder the color had slowly drained from her cheeks, or that weight had slipped from her frame without appetite to sustain it. They never dined together, never shared even a trivial conversation. He made no effort to know herno effort at all. Chapter 2 Though they meticulously upheld the fa?ade of a contented couple, high society proved adept at interpreting their silent discord. As Leander Ravenswood's wife, Liora ought to have been deluged with invitations to galas and soires, yet apart from a handful from acquaintances, society omitted her with the same indifference her husband displayed. She could endure that exclusion it was the other matter that shredded her composure. Emerging from the shower, she secured a towel and entered the bedroom just as her phone chimed with a new notification. Her jaw tightened as she approached the bed and glimpsed the sender: Brielle. Drawing a steadying breath, she placed the phone face down, refusing to unlock the screen. Brielle Voss had been childhood friends with Thalia Ravenswood, Leander's sister. She had grown up intertwined with the Ravenswood siblings, their lives woven together. Consequently, Leander had installed her as his personal secretary, though Liora understood their connection ran far deeper. Brielle missed no opportunity to remind herthrough meticulously timed messagesof Leander's attentions to her, or the intimacies they shared during their clandestine meetings. Liora had long ceased reading the texts, yet they arrived each morning with cruel regularity. And Brielle's were not the only messages. Two more chimes followed in quick successionThalia and her mother, Patricia. Liora ignored these as well. Their content never varied. Thalia's would interrogate her for obstructing the 'true love' between Leander and Brielle, while Patricia's would ponder, with chilling civility, why Liora had not yet ended her life, listing household items that might facilitate the task. Liora's personal favorite remained the time Patricia had suggested the kitchen knife set, a wedding gift from Elowen herself. The messages she could disregard. Facing them in person proved more difficult. Fortunately, such encounters were rare, confined largely to obligatory holiday gatherings at the Ravenswood estate. There, at least, Elowen's imposing presence tempered their hostility, as neither woman dared displease the family matriarch, who consistently treated Liora with warmth. While Leander viewed her as a mere inconvenience, Liora was unmistakably Elowen's favored choice. Yet Elowen could not be omnipresent, and Leander never once intervened on her behalf. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Liora walked to the kitchen. She filled a kettle and set it on the stove. Upon first occupying the villa, a housekeeper had been employed, but Liora grew weary of the woman's unspoken pity and eventually released her with a substantial severance and strong recommendations. At times, she missed the companionship, but the house was manageable aloneespecially since she only inhabited three rooms, leaving the remainder sealed and silent. When the kettle whistled, she lifted it from the burner and poured steaming water into a cup. After a moment's deliberation, she selected her tea for the morning and carried it to the table. Opening her laptop, she took a sip while the system awoke. Once it was ready, she opened her most recent document and began to read where she had last paused. I wake to the familiar, comforting scent of musk and Old Spice. My eyes open on the face of the man who has effortlessly claimed my heart. A shadow of stubble softens his defined jaw, and waves of brown hair fall carelessly across his forehead. My fingers yearn to thread through those locks, but I resist, unwilling to disturb his sleep. Silently, I slip from the bed, draping my bare form in his discarded shirt before padding out of the room. After so many years resigned to spinsterhood, this romance catches me entirely off guard. Yet there is an undeniable magnetism about him. He holds my attention as no one else ever has, and his gaze, perpetually seeking me, suggests the feeling is mutual. In truth, he almost compromises our cover during our stakeout at the underground gambling den, though fortunately, his prowess in a fight matches his talents in bed. A tremor runs through me at the mere memory of his touch, of kisses that linger. Shaking away the thought, I enter the kitchen to prepare my morning pot of tea, switching on the television to occupy my restless mind. I settle on the couch with a cup of chamomile and turn my attention to the news broadcast. In other news, Prince Adrian has at last announced his long-anticipated engagement to Princess Vivienne. The striking couple receives guests at the royal estate this past Tuesday to confirm their forthcoming marriage The teacup falls from my grasp, shattering on the floor. I stare, frozen, at the image on the screen. It is Adrian my Adri There can be no mistake. My Adri is a prince and he is promised to another. How? How has my intuition failed so completely? How can he have deceived me this way? Is this all merely a final indulgence before his wedding? Calm yourself, Seraphina. It must be an error. Surely? Yet despite every frantic effort to rationalize the scene before me, the truth is inescapable. My prince charming is, in fact, a prince and he belongs to someone else. So what, then, am I to do? Chapter 3 Liora leaned back in her chair, her eyes lingering on the final line. Yeswhat, indeed, was she to do? From her earliest years, two passions had anchored her: accompanying her mother on antiquing excursions, and writing. As a child, she had always kept a notebook close, its pages steadily filling whenever inspiration whispered to her. She could no longer trace the precise moment Seraphina Charles had first taken shape in her mind, but she recalled weaving adventure after adventure, gradually refining her heroine. Seraphina had undergone many transformationsa fairy princess, a pirate captain, even, in one peculiar iteration, a cyborgbefore Liora finally settled on her current incarnation: a psychic-medium and tarot reader who solved mysteries. Readers had embraced Seraphina's pursuit of truth and justice across six published volumes. When Liora was young, her mother had offered a simple piece of advice: write what you know. To ensure Seraphina's exploits felt authentic, Liora had undertaken French cooking courses, apprenticed with a renowned photographer, competed in a rodeo, skydived, rock-climbed, scuba dived, and journeyed to distant localesfrom the Sahara to Paris to the Virgin Islands. Her family, naturally, remained unaware of all of it. After cancer claimed her mother, Liora's father and brother retreated into the world of circuitry and code, leaving her largely to her own devices. When her father's company briefly flourished, she and her brother were enrolled in an exclusive new school. There, however, her classmates were far from welcoming to someone they deemed new money. In her old school, she had been mocked as a bookish outsider; in the new one, she was ostracized for lacking the proper pedigree. Only one person showed her genuine kindness: Astrid Starling. The daughter of an editor and publisher, Astrid shared Liora's love of stories and insisted on reading every Seraphina manuscript. Their friendship endured through high school and into college, where, at Astrid's urging, Liora submitted her latest story to Astrid's father. To her astonishment, he adored it and immediately drafted a publishing contract. Unwilling to face her family's scorn or curiosity, Liora's sole condition was to publish under a pseudonym and preserve her anonymity. Astrid and her father were disappointedauthor appearances were central to any book campaignbut Liora proposed she could still make public appearances while concealing her face beneath a wig and sunglasses. The idea delighted Astrid, and together they constructed a persona. Since the stories were written in the first person, Liora adopted the pen name Seraphina Charles and fashioned her public look to mirror the character's. Seraphina possessed dark hair, so Liora and Astrid sourced a suitable wig to conceal her dark blonde locks. To shield her features, they selected a pair of sunglasses with wide circular lenses. On book tours, she wore vibrant red lipstick and an eclectic array of thrift-store outfits. Astrid often remarked that when Liora was in character, even she struggled to recognize her. With the disguise perfected and the contract signed, Liora could finally relish the rewards of her labor while remaining safely obscured, knowing only three people in the world knew the truth. Yet not even Liora had anticipated just how beloved Seraphina would become. Her debut novel, The Wolfsbane Journals, climbed swiftly to the top of the charts, leaving readers eager for more. That first story had been relatively grounded, set in a New York high school and drawing upon Liora's own experiences both as a student and a student teacher. For Seraphina's next adventure, Liora desired something more exotic. With royalty checks depositing six figures into her account, she traveled to Paris, explored the city, enrolled in French culinary classes, worked in a bakery, and befriended a noted photographer who taught her the craft. All of this research eventually crystallized into The Oleander Enigma. And so it continuedher own experiences became the clay from which Seraphina's world was shaped. At times, the boundary between her reality and the fiction grew faint. Perhaps that was why, when readers pleaded for a love interest, Liora introduced Adrianand with him, Seraphina's star-crossed romance. But did it truly have to end in sorrow? Even if her own story lacked a happy ending, perhaps Seraphina's need not. Where, exactly, did fantasy end and reality begin? Liora still had no answer. But she kept writing, clinging to the hope that one day she might discover it. "Leander Leigh! Heyearth to Leander!" Cassian's voice finally broke through, sharp enough to seize his friend's attention. Leander swept a hand through his wavy brown hair and fixed his gaze on the man before him. Cassian had been his friend since their primary school days. Groomed to become a meticulous and relentless researcher, Cassian had proven himself invaluable both as a manager of personnel and a gatherer of intelligence. Leander could think of no one better suited to stand beside him as he stepped into his grandmother's formidable shoes. Together, they had formed an indefatigable team, securing several decisive victories for the company's growth and stability. He might not yet operate on his grandmother's level, and perhaps he still trailed figures like Jasper Frostbane and Tristan Silvermark by a step or twobut the gap was narrowing. "Yes. What is it?" Leander asked, his tone edged with a reminder that Cassian was, in this room, also an employee. "A few matters. Soren Wraithborne called again," Cassian said, noting Leander's immediate scowl. "And what does he want this time?" "A loan." Chapter 4 Leander released a derisive snort. "Is he serious? The next time he calls, inform him only a fool would assist someone who managed to offend Malachi Frostbane. He can resolve his own issues. What else?" "The Fortune 500 Gala is tomorrow evening." "That again," Leander sighed, the weariness evident in his voice. The Gala was an annual, deliberately informal gathering designed to foster connections among New York's elite, facilitating the exchange of ideas and investment in emerging ventures. He could no longer recall its originator, but it was an event his grandmother had never missedand as her heir, neither could he. The Gala itself wasn't the burden; the obligation to attend with his insipid, pallid wife was. Liora Blackwell. To this day, his grandmother's rationale eluded him. Admittedly, she was pleasant to look upon, but she was a schoolteacher. She stood no chance of holding her own against women like Anwen Frostbane, the renowned photographer S. Ashford, or Callista Silvermark, daughter of Ronan Ironbriar and a restaurant entrepreneur in her own right. To compete on equal footing with Jasper and Tristan, he required a consort of comparable caliber. He understood his grandmother's desperation for an heir, but surely there were limits. Yet the terms of their agreement prevented him from divorcing Liora without substantial causecause sufficient to satisfy his grandmother. Thus, he remained shackled to an inadequate partner in a ruthless world that discarded laggards without a second thought. "Very well. Contact my bride and inform her of the time," Leander said, his tone laced with resignation. Cassian winced at his callousness but dutifully sent the message. Several minutes passed before a reply arrivedan unusual delay, and the response itself was even more unexpected. Noting his assistant's frown, Leander inquired, "What is it?" "She states she is feeling unwell and will be unable to attend." "Good," Leander exhaled, a wave of relief washing over him. "I'll be spared her company." "Leigh, if she's ill enough to remain at home, shouldn't you consider ensuring she receives care?" "If it's that severe, she can summon a car herself," Leander dismissed the concern with a wave. "Notify my sister that I'll require her accompaniment. Arriving unescorted to this event would be unsuitable." "Understood." Cassian's frown deepened, but he complied. A distinct foreboding settled over him; it was shaping up to be a protracted and trying evening. Leander emerged from the car, extending a hand to assist his sister. Though separated by a few years, their resemblance was striking. As always, Thalia was adorned in a breathtaking gown, a glittering diamond necklace and earrings, and impeccably applied makeup. She embodied the quintessential heiress, complete with the requisite demeanor and figure. If only his wife possessed half her allure. "Ahem." A voice from within the limousine reminded him of his other passenger. Suppressing an eye roll, Leander reached back in to help Brielle alight. Like Thalia, she wore a shimmering gown, accented by a sapphire necklace. Though her family's means were more modest, she never lacked for appropriate attire. Leander had only requested his sister's presence, yet Brielle, as ever, had contrived to join them. As his secretary, her attendance could be marginally justified, he supposed. Brielle threaded her arm through his left, while Thalia claimed his right. The trio proceeded inside, with a watchful Cassian trailing behind. The Gala was, as customary, held within a spacious reception hall. This venue featured expansive windows offering a spectacular panorama of the city lights. The women remained at his side as Leander commenced his rounds, exchanging greetings with familiar faces. He introduced his sister and secretary to those who inquired, though the expectation was for them to remain composed and silent unless directly addresseda rule Liora had followed meticulously, but one Thalia and Brielle seemed intent on flouting. Their chatter provoked uneasy glances from several guests, looks Leander found difficult to interpret: a blend of distaste, bewilderment, and open disapproval. Completing his initial circuit of the room, Leander was taken aback to spot Jasper Frostbane in attendance alongside Anwen. This was not their typical venue; the couple usually favored more family-oriented events. Though surprised, Leander recognized an invaluable opportunity. Securing a meeting with Jasper was notoriously difficult, given the man's prolonged stays in Paris. "Jasper, a pleasure to see you," Leander greeted. "Leander," Jasper replied with a polite smile that quickly faded into a contemplative frown as his gaze shifted to Leander's companions. "This is my sister, Thalia, and my secretary, Brielle." "Charmed, I'm sure," Brielle simpered, earning a sharp, disapproving glance from Jasper. "Did Liora not accompany you?" Anwen asked, pointedly disregarding the other two women. "Who? Oh, no. She was feeling unwell and remained at home," Leander explained. "I do hope she's alright. I was looking forward to speaking with her. It feels an age since we last talked." "Why would you possibly want to converse with that tedious creature?" Thalia laughed, her tone dismissive. "Is that any way to speak of your sister-in-law?" Jasper's voice was cold, his glare fixed on Thalia. "It's not as though she's of any consequence," Thalia shrugged, unperturbed. Jasper's eyes flicked to Leander, expecting a reprimand. None came. Anwen exchanged a concerned look with her husband before saying, "Please convey my best wishes to her. I hope to see her as soon as she's recovered." Leander offered a vague nod as Jasper and Anwen made their departure, clearly eager to distance themselves. While Jasper had previously entertained business proposals from Leander, he now saw no merit in continuing such associations, either present or future. It was prudent to keep Frostbane interests far removed from Ravenswood affairs, and he mentally noted to discuss these observations with March and his father. Eventually, Leander made his way to the bar, ordered his usual drink, and contemplated his next move. The night promised to be long; he needed to maximize its potential. He dispatched Thalia and Brielle to mingle with the other spouses, hoping to broaden his network. Thalia was adept at such social maneuvering, and Leander felt confident she would advance his interestsfar more effectively, he was certain, than Liora ever could. Chapter 5 "London Bridge is falling down, down, down," Leander slurred, swaying dangerously near the curb. Only Cassian's swift intervention kept him from lurching into the path of an oncoming cab. Grabbing his boss by the shoulders, Cassian steadied him, his eyes scanning the street impatiently for the limousine. When it finally pulled up, he all but shoved Leander into the rear compartment before turning on the driver. "Where were you? Taking a scenic tour? When I call for the car, I expect it to be here!" "Sorry, sir. It's my first night on" "I don't need excuses." "Apologies, sir." "And save the apologies. What's your instruction?" "Right. Um is Mr. Ravenswood alright?" "He's fine. He's had a bit too much to drink. Your job is to get him home and ensure he makes it inside. I don't want a public disturbance or an indecency charge on my hands. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "Good." "Sir, what about the ladies?" "Forget them. I'll see to them. Just focus on him." As the car pulled away, Cassian let out a long breath, massaging his temples. He could only hope the damage from tonight was containable. His apprehension about bringing Thalia and Brielle had been justified. All evening, snippets of conversation had swirled around Leander. "If that woman's a secretary, I'll eat my hat," one guest had chuckled. "I doubt she knows a filing cabinet from a handbag." "The only thing she's likely filing is his personal correspondence, if you catch my meaning." "Really? And what of his wife?" "Have you ever actually seen them together? She's elegant, I'll grant you, but there's no warmth there. A man has needs." "I suppose. Poor woman." "Oh, I'm sure she's content. Probably cares more about her allowance than his whereabouts." "How many times have you been divorced?" "Three." "A telling pattern, wouldn't you say?" "What's that supposed to mean?" "Jasper has been married once, and seems perfectly content. Tristan as well." "Well" "Besides, I don't think the wife is as naive as you assume. I doubt she's ill at all." While Leander had cited Liora's illness as the reason for her absence, most interpreted it as a flimsy pretext to keep her away from his apparent mistress. Leander's indifference toward his wife was an open secret, and her rare appearances only fueled speculation of an affair. Brielle, clinging to Leander all night like a second skin, had done nothing to dispel the notion. Compounding the disaster was Jasper Frostbane's very public coldness toward Leander upon his arrival. That single snub had effectively marked Ravenswood as toxic. If the Frostbanes wanted no part of him, others would follow suit. The resulting isolation had driven Leander to drink more heavily than usual, culminating in the present spectacle. Cassian sighed deeply. The week ahead promised to be arduous. The violent slam of a door jolted Liora from sleep. She sat up, quickly wrapping herself in a robe before stepping cautiously into the hallway, where she collided with the last person she expected to see. "Leander? What what are you doing here?" His answer was to pull her roughly against him, his mouth claiming hers in a deep, invasive kiss. The taste of whiskey was overwhelming. His tongue pushed past her lips as his hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging in. She managed to turn her face away, breaking the kiss, but lacked the strength to free herself from his embrace. "Leander, are you drunk?" she asked, though the pungent smell of alcohol made the question absurd. "Only for you," he slurred, lifting her off her feet. "Leander! Put me down!" "Oh, I'll put you down." He stumbled, and they fell together onto the bed. His mouth found hers again, silencing her struggles. His hands moved over her body with a possessive urgency, cupping her breast through the thin fabric before tearing the robe open, seeking bare skin. The sheer force of him shocked her. This was not the cold, detached man she knew. Yet a treacherous part of hera part she had long suppressedhad fantasized about such a moment: raw and wanting. Her body, untouched until now, responded as if set alight, each new sensation foreign and electrifying. He murmured incoherently against her neck, his lips trailing downward before taking her peaked nipple into his mouth. A low moan escaped her at the strange, exquisite friction. She squirmed as a deep, dormant ache awoke within her, stirred to life by his touch. Was she losing her mind? His hand slid between her thighs, stroking the sensitive skin before pushing aside the barrier of her panties. A single finger entered her, and she cried out at the sharp, intimate invasion. A confusing torrent of pleasure and pain swept through her, and her hips moved of their own accord against his hand. "Yeah you like that," he grunted into her neck. "There's more" She was moaning now, her body slick with sweat, moving with a rhythm she didn't consciously dictate, chasing a release it instinctively craved. With a groan, he wrestled out of his clothes, then stripped away what remained of hers. Her eyes widened at the sight of himfully erect and glistening. A whimper caught in her throat at the thought of accommodating him, but he gave her no time to adjust. He positioned himself over her and thrust in deeply, sheathing himself past a barrier she hadn't fully understood existed. A sharp cry was torn from her at the sudden, searing fullness, but he was already moving, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm to which her body, astonishingly, began to synchronize. The initial pain gradually receded into a throbbing, building heat. He kissed her again, his tongue mirroring the invasion below, and she felt herself spiraling toward a precipice. "That's it that's what you want, isn't it, Bri?" The words sliced through the haze of sensation like shards of ice. "W-what?" she gasped, her body freezing even as it trembled on the brink. "Leigh what did you call" Her protest dissolved into a helpless moan as his final, forceful thrusts pushed her over the edge, her climax wrenching through her just as he spilled himself inside her with a low, satisfied groan. Spent, he withdrew and collapsed beside her, succumbing almost instantly to a drunken stupor. Liora lay next to him, motionless. Shivers wracked her frame as she slowly curled into herself. Bri. He had called her Bri. As in Brielle. In the one moment he had finally touched her, in the intimacy she had foolishly allowed herself to crave, he had been envisioning another woman. The man she lovedthe man who wanted nothing to do with herhad taken her, and in his mind, he had been with his mistress. Hot, silent tears blurred the dark room, tracing paths down her cheeks. Leander began to snore, peaceful in his oblivion, while the fragile remnants of her world collapsed into dust around her. Chapter 6 Liora dragged her throbbing form into the bathroom, collapsing under the shower's scalding stream. She felt soiled, violated. Was this to be her existence? And what of Seraphina? What would she have done? A long while passed before her trembling subsided. Her face was flushed and swollen from weeping; her skin stung from vigorous scrubbing. Yet the physical discomfort finally sharpened her mind into clarity. The fantasies she had nurtured since girlhood were just thatfantasies. Leander would never desire her, nor waste a moment's concern on her. He wanted another woman, and he would have her, regardless of his marriage to Liora. But Liora refused to linger as the scorned wife. This was her life, and she would dictate its conclusion. Unsteadily, she rose, shut off the water, and stepped out. Wrapped in a towel, she stood before her closet, surveying its contents. It was filled with high-end designer garments, yet none felt like her ownall neutral tones, occasional pale blues. She yearned for the warm hues of autumn, for cuts that celebrated her shape rather than rendering her formless. Moving to a dresser at the back, she retrieved worn jeans and a soft sweater. The day was damp and chilly; she dressed for warmth, moving gingerly around her aches. Then she turned to the bedside table, quietly gathering her laptop, phones, and charging cables, tucking them into a leather attach. These were the only possessions she truly neededthe only ones that belonged to her alone. As she straightened, she froze. Leander murmured indistinctly in his sleep; she caught something that sounded like yeah, you like it like that, before his breathing deepened again into rhythmic snores. Liora stared, committing this final image to memory. This was the last time she would lay eyes on him. From this moment forward, they were strangers. They meant nothing to one another. With resolve, she slid her wedding bands from her finger and placed them beside the lamp. Then she walked out of the room. Leaving everything else untouched, she pulled on a pair of sneakers and exited the villa. The door shut firmly behind her with a definitive clicklocked, her keys left inside. There would be no return. She made her way down the driveway to the sidewalk, turned left, and retrieved the older-model phone Leander had given her shortly after their wedding. She powered it off and dropped it back into her bag. From another pocket, she drew a newer phoneone she had bought for herself. Opening a ride-share app, she requested a pickup at the next corner, then dialed a memorized number. Though the hour was late, the call was answered on the second ring. "Hey, Liora-Belle. Everything okay? It's not like you to call so late." "Astrid, I'm coming over. I need to talk to you." "You sound shaken. Have you been crying?" "I'm all right. I'll explain when I get there." "I'll be waiting." "See you in forty." Liora ended the call as a silver van pulled to the curb. She climbed in without looking back. Leander stirred with a groan. He pushed himself upright, rubbing his temples against the dull ache forming there. Glancing down, he was mildly surprised to find himself unclothedthough sleeping without attire was not unheard of for him. More puzzling was the beige bedding. In fact, the entire room was beige, and it was decidedly not his bedroom at the condo. His gaze swept the space. The other side of the bed lay empty, though the impression in the sheets suggested someone had recently been there. Rising unsteadily, he stumbled toward the bathroom, hoping a shower might clear the fog in his mind. He recalled attending the Gala with Thalia and Brielle, but beyond that, his memory dissolved into fragmented, hazy scenes. Just how much had he drunk to reach this state? After showering, he ventured cautiously into the walk-in closet. Only one side showed signs of use, filled with sensible, understated women's clothing. Realization finally dawned: he was in the villa. Which meant Leander stepped back into the bedroom, staring at the rumpled bed. Slowly, the pieces connected. Clearly, Cassian had noted his inebriation and arranged a carbut there must have been a miscommunication. Instead of his condo, the driver had brought him here. A copy of the villa's keys was on his ring, though he had never once used them. In fact, the last and only time he had set foot here was on his wedding night, when he had abandoned his wife to the empty house. That explained the unfamiliarity of the room, and the absence of his own clothes. But where was his insipid little wife? Frowning, Leander noticed the heap of clothing on the floor. Warily, he gathered the garments and dumped them onto the bed, sorting his own from the mingled women's items. A slow anger began to simmer within him. Had she truly taken advantage while he was incapacitated? Was she utterly without shame? He would not tolerate it. Locating his phone, he dialed Cassian. His harried assistant answered instantly. "I'm at your condo. Where are you?" "Where do you think? Why the hell am I at the villa?" "The villa? Damn. The driver was new. I told him to take you homehe must have misunderstood." "Bring me clothes and come get me. Now." "On my way." Leander ended the call and stalked toward the bedroom door, raising his voice. "If you think this is amusing, I assure you I do not!" Wrapped only in a towel, he entered the kitchenempty. He turned, checking the study and guest rooms down the hall. Each was silent, untouched. "I am not playing hide-and-seek!" he called out, his voice echoing. "Get out here and explain yourself. Liora!" Only silence answered. Where was she? Hadn't she claimed to be ill? Or was that a ruse to make him appear neglectful in front of Jasper Frostbane at the Gala? A knock at the front door interrupted his thoughts. Grumbling, he unlocked and opened it to find Cassian holding a duffel bag. Cassian's eyes swept over him, taking in his state of undress. "Not sure this is the neighborhood for answering doors dressed like that." Snatching the bag, Leander retreated to the bedroom to change. Cassian lingered in the entryway, quietly surveying the interior. The villa was still. Eerily so. Despite two years of occupancy, it bore no imprint of Liora. No photographs, no personal trinkets, nothing to soften the space. It felt like a staged showhomeimpersonal, devoid of life. Cassian frowned. It wasn't natural. Didn't most people collect traces of themselves? "So where is she?" he asked as Leander reemerged, now dressed in a crisp suit. "How should I know? If she has any sense, she'll keep her distance after last night."