The first time I saw them after the wedding, I braced for the gut-wrenching pain—the kind that had once hollowed me out. But it didn’t come.

But instead, there was only a dull ache.

The city resumed its rhythm, but Brynda and Lorran turned every occasion into a spectacle. They attended luncheons at the palace, hosted extravagant gatherings at their estate, and made public appearances that sent the nobility into a frenzy.

The people of the capital adored them.

They were the empire’s favorite bedtime story—glossy, romantic, and utterly false.

I learned quickly that the best way to track them was to listen. I spent time in the quieter corners of the capital—the open-air markets, the cafés where merchants and servants gathered, the bookstores where scholars muttered about politics.

I said nothing, just listened—carefully, strategically—while sipping poorman’s tea and pretending not to eavesdrop.

The nobles fawned over them, praising their love as if it were a fairytale.

But then, the whispers started.

Brynda’s spending was becoming excessive.

Imported fabrics. Lavish decorations. Jewelry meant to rival even the royal family’s collection.

It was subtle now, but the tone of admiration had shifted. Not everyone saw her as a beloved new marchioness anymore. Some saw a woman whose hunger for wealth might be greater than her ability to control it.

Rumors spread that Brynda had attempted to establish a new business venture, eager to expand House Norville’s wealth beyond its vast yet dwindling reserves.

She had approached a merchant guild, expecting eager compliance, but was quietly turned away.

It wasn’t because she lacked funds—at least, not yet. It was because the merchants feared angering a greater force.

Voyox had become a powerful influence. If you weren’t aligned directly with this unseen god of the merchants, the chances of your business failing were too high.

Brynda may have had power in society, but she had no sway in the merchant world.

She still thought money talked. But in the trade districts, only Voyox whispered—and everyone listened.

Lorran, for his part, remained a devoted husband. At least in public. But I had spent years reading his face, knowing the way his moods shifted, the way his smiles changed when something was wrong.

And something was wrong.

A jaw twitch here, a rigid shoulder there—subtle signs that even Lorran had limits, especially when Brynda giggled like a schoolgirl and spent like an empress.

Lorran wasn’t the kind of man who would marry a woman he didn’t love. After all, he fought for his engagement with me, even though I was the daughter of a baron with no power.

He would never leave her. Not after everything.

But for the first time, I began to wonder if he ever regretted choosing her at all.

I waited for pain to come at that thought, but it never did.

Because I didn’t want him back. I wanted him to burn.

I only wanted to watch them crumble.

It was the fervent desire for revenge that distracted me from my studies. My tutor decided to leave early, telling me to get some rest so we could start fresh the next day.

Not long after, a sharp rap at the door broke me out of my revenge fantasies.

The knock was too familiar, too deliberate.

I opened the door, already knowing who I’d find on the other side.

Evan stood on my porch like a sexy poem—windswept hair, fine coat, and a bottle of sin in his hand.

I folded my arms. “I assume you have a reason for being here.” Glancing at the wine, I added, “If it’s to confess your undying love, I hope you brought more than one bottle.”

He lifted the bottle. “I do have a reason. A very important one.”

I eyed it with suspicion. “I didn’t peg you for a sommelier,” I added. “Or a door-to-door peddler.

“This isn’t just any wine,” he said smoothly, stepping past me into the cottage without invitation. His shoulder brushed mine—deliberate or careless, I couldn’t tell—and the warmth of his body stayed with me even after he passed. “It’s an exquisite vintage from the royal cellars. Nearly impossible to acquire.”

I shut the door, watching as he walked toward my small table, setting the bottle down with unnecessary care. The candlelight caught the deep burgundy glass, the golden seal pressed into the wax.

“And I’m supposed to believe you happened to come across this and thought of me?” I asked, leaning against the wall.

He turned, his smirk deepening. “No. I had it brought here for a reason.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And what reason is that?”

He took his time answering, glancing around the cottage as if examining my living conditions for the first time.

His gaze swept over the space—slow, unhurried—like a man assessing more than just furniture. Like he was imagining himself inside it. 

I resisted the urge to cover myself, as if he were gazing at my body rather than the room.

Then, finally, he looked back at me.

“To see if you still enjoy noble indulgences.”

I let out a quiet scoff. “You think I miss them?”

He leaned against the table, his hands resting on the surface beside the bottle. “I think you tell yourself you don’t.”

I met his gaze, steady and unwavering. “I left that life behind with surprising ease.”

“Did you?” His voice was laced with something unreadable, something close to amusement but not quite. “You still read books fit for scholars. You still follow court gossip. You know who’s sleeping with whom, who’s bankrupt, and who tripped over their poodle at Lady Thorne’s luncheon.”

I tilted my head. “You do all of that too.”

His smirk didn’t fade. “And what does that tell you?”

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head. “I see. This isn’t just about the wine. This is about testing me.”

He picked up the bottle again, rolling it slightly between his fingers. “Call it curiosity.”

I stepped into his space, just close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, to smell the faint trace of soap and cedar that always clung to his skin. “And what exactly do you hope to learn?”

“That’s up to you.”

For a moment, there was only silence between us.

Our fingers grazed—brief, electric—when I took the bottle. His hand lingered a breath too long, as if daring me to notice.

I turned it in my hands, running my fingers over the wax seal. “Fine. I’ll bite.”

Evan raised a brow. “Meaning?”

I smirked. “Pour the wine. And don’t be stingy on the amount, Cromwell. I’m not one of your uptight guests.”

His lips parted slightly, his surprise evident in how his amusement flickered just for a second.

Then, without another word, he reached for the two small glasses on my shelf and filled them both with the deep red liquid.

I took one and swirled it slightly before bringing it to my lips. The first sip was rich and smooth, and the taste lingered on my tongue.

Evan took his own sip, watching me carefully over the rim of his glass.

“Well?” he asked.

I set my glass down. “It’s good,” I said.

When I licked a drop from my lower lip, his nostrils flared.

He cleared his throat. “Just good?”

I shrugged. “Would you prefer I wax poetic about its complexity?”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “No,” he said, eyes locked on my lips. “But I thought you’d at least pretend you didn’t like having me here….I mean, enjoying it.”

I exhaled, ignoring his slip. “So you came all this way just to confirm that I still have expensive taste?”

He leaned in until the air between us thickened—one breath away from a kiss neither of us had dared start. “I came to confirm that you haven’t changed as much as you pretend you have.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “And what about you?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something else beneath it, something sharper. “What about me?”

“Are you going to tell me you don’t care about the life you were born into?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “You may act like you’re separate from it, but you play the game better than anyone. And yet, here you are, sitting in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere, testing me like it matters.”

His eyes darkened slightly, and for the first time, he didn’t have an immediate answer.

Then, after a long pause, he took another sip of wine. “I never claimed to be above it all.”

I raised my glass to him in mock acknowledgment. “Then perhaps we’re not so different.”

He studied me for a moment, then lifted his own glass in return.

“Perhaps.”

The conversation could have ended there, but something about the way he looked at me lingered. Not just amusement, not just curiosity.

Something else.

I wondered—heart thudding—if he came here to test my will… or to test his own.

It was evident he hadn’t come here for the wine.

Whatever this was between us, it wasn’t harmless.

And if I wasn’t careful, Evan Cromwell might be the one distraction that ruined everything I’d built.