I expected the ripples. After all, I’d made the initial splash.

A rumor here. A merchant deal tweaked just enough there. Every move deliberate. Every consequence mine.

What I hadn’t expected was for Brynda’s mask to slip so soon—and in public.

The merchant's sudden withdrawal from Norville business was the first real sign that Voyox had stopped whispering—and started roaring.

The empire ran on silent agreements—those with influence thrived, those without obeyed.

For once, Brynda’s influence wasn’t enough.

At a capital luncheon for the empire’s nobility, Brynda glowed—playing the part of the adored marchioness.

Earlier, she had laughed at a passing mention of the Inglerads’ former success, saying, “Those peasants with polished manners? I suppose anyone can sell silk these days.”

She moved through the room like crowned royalty—if the crown were made of insecurity and rhinestones. Her laugh was too loud. Her presence, too forced.

Until someone didn’t play along.

A merchant’s wife, married to a top textile trader, offhandedly mentioned that some merchants had grown... hesitant.

Brynda knew. She’d spent the week hearing polite refusals, watching deals vanish.

She smiled tightly. “You must be mistaken. There’s no reason a merchant would avoid House Norville.”

The woman shrugged. “Perhaps. But I’ve heard they’d rather not cross Voyox.”

Silence followed.

A small shift. A slight pause in the conversation. Even the pastries looked uncomfortable.

From across the garden, I watched Brynda’s fingers tighten around her glass.

She laughed it off—too loud, too fast. But in her eyes? A flicker of fear.

And I savored it.

Brynda had never met Voyox. She had never spoken to the mysterious figure behind the empire’s growing power.

And yet, she was beginning to understand that Voyox dictated the rules now.

I was still considering the implications of the luncheon when I returned to the cottage later that evening.

The satisfaction of watching Brynda falter should have lingered longer, but I found myself restless, unsettled by the knowledge that I was no longer just placing pieces on the board.

I was moving them.

I had control.

And that control thrilled me.

The door of my cottage creaked open. Uninvited, unsurprising, Evan

He sauntered in, tossed his coat over a chair, and scanned my face before his gaze settled on the untouched wine glass.

"You’re celebrating," he noted.

I arched a brow. "Is that what you call it?"

He leaned his weight on the table, casual, but watching me too closely for comfort.

He smirked, but there was no warmth in it. "I heard about the luncheon."

I picked up my glass, swirling the liquid idly. "Then you know Brynda has finally learned that being married to Lorran doesn’t make her untouchable."

Evan exhaled sharply, his gaze assessing. "And how does it feel?"

I took a slow sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through me before I answered. "It feels like the beginning."

Something passed through his expression, something unreadable but intense.

"Then what’s next?" he asked.

I smirked. "Why? Are you afraid I’ll become too powerful?"

Evan took a slow step toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. "No," he said, his voice lower now. "I’m afraid you’ll enjoy it too much."

Silence bloomed.

Somehow, he was right in front of me. And he was too close.

His presence was always deliberate, always controlled, but now—now there was something different.

Something I didn’t recognize.

I searched his face. "And if I do?"

His eyes darkened. "Then you won’t stop."

The words weren’t a warning. They were something else entirely.

The air between us was thick, too heavy, too electric.

And then—he kissed me.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Just a collision of fire, pride, and the thing neither of us dared name.

I didn’t think—I reacted. My fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, matching him breath for breath, heat for heat.

Evan wasn’t gentle. He kissed like a man with something to prove. And I met him with everything I had.

I felt the tension in his body, the way his hands found my waist, pulling me flush against him.

Every movement was deliberate, every shift controlled—except for the way his fingers tightened when I bit his lower lip, the way his breath hitched when I tangled my hands in his hair.

It was way too fast.

And too much.

 But then, Evan abruptly pulled away.

A short gasp left me as I felt the absence of his warmth, like I’d been doused in cold water.

Heartbeat unsteady, breathing ragged, I had no sense of composure in that moment as I stared at him in bewilderment.

Evan looked like he’d just lost a fight—with himself.

Tense. Silent.

Then, without warning, he turned and walked out.

The door closed behind him, and the only sound in the room was the rapid beat of my heart.

I touched my lips, still swollen from the kiss, still burning from the intensity of it.

I had expected a dual. A challenge.

I hadn’t expected that.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know how I felt.

For once,  I had no plan. No answer. Just heat—and questions.