The morning air clung to my skin as I stepped out of my room, still chilled by the memories I couldn't shake. I hadn't slept. Not truly. The faces I saw in the garden and courtyard lingered behind my eyelids long after I blew out the candle.

And now I was being summoned.

A maid had knocked just after dawn. Your father requests you in the atrium, she'd said. Her voice was polite. Neutral. She didn’t mention the guest.

The hallways of House Valemire always felt too wide when I was walking toward something unknown. I moved past velvet drapes and glass-paned doors, trying to steel myself.

I should’ve known the morning would only get worse.

Because the moment I stepped into the atrium, I saw him.

The Duke.

He stood beside my father, tall and sharp like a sword unsheathed. The morning light spilled in through the stained-glass dome above, scattering color across his black coat and glinting off the silver at his collar.

He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t.

His eyes flicked toward me. Cold. Cutting.

Like he was already judging me. Like he always would.

“Aria,” my father said, offering a brief smile. “You’re up early.”

I gave a slight curtsy. “You sent for me?”

“Yes,” he said, gesturing to the long table between them. “We were discussing the upcoming acquisition. I thought you should be involved.”

We.

As if the Duke belonged here. As if he hadn’t stared through me like a ghost just yesterday.

Caelan Ravencourt. Duke of the Northern Reaches. A name that cuts like glass in polite conversation.

A war hero, they called him. A ruthless tactician, feared even among his allies. He wasn’t born into power—he earned it on the battlefield, painting his name across enemy borders in red. His victories were brutal, calculated. And yet, he barely spoke unless the words served a purpose.

He had been married once. A noblewoman from a high house. She left him within the week.

No explanation. No scandal.

Just… silence.

It was all anyone whispered about for months. What could make a woman walk away from a title, a fortune—him—after only seven days?

I bowed my head slightly and moved to stand beside my father, forcing my eyes to stay on the parchment in front of me. The Duke didn’t speak again. He just watched.

Not with curiosity. Not with interest.
Like I was a book he’d already read and discarded.

I listened as my father reviewed the coastal shipment—the painting crates delayed, the merchant’s idiocy, the risk to our reputation with the Imperial buyer—but none of it stuck.

Not with that cold presence standing inches away.

And still, he said nothing.

But that gaze... it lingered. Sharp as steel. And somehow more dangerous than any weapon he could have drawn.

I wasn’t sure if he saw me as a business partner… or a warning.