Lucien POV
The magazine crew files out with their equipment and manufactured enthusiasm, leaving behind only the faint smell of hairspray and the echo of too much forced laughter. Catherine follows them to the door to ensure the narrative stays controlled, her heels clicking efficiently down the marble hallway like a metronome counting down to Evelyn’s inevitable move.
The manor settles into silence that feels almost oppressive after hours of performance.
I loosen my tie with fingers that feel clumsy, pull the knot free completely, and head toward my office. But something stops me halfway there—a heaviness in my chest that makes the familiar route feel wrong somehow. Like the performance took something vital with it and left us hollowed out, echoing.
I find myself walking toward the ki
