Lucien POV
I noticed the blanket first.
Draped over the back of my office chair where I’d fallen asleep at 3 AM, drowning in quarterly reports and acquisition proposals. Soft cashmere, the color of storm clouds—one of the throws from the rarely-used sitting room upstairs.
Mara must have left it.
The realization hits me with unexpected force. She came down here, saw me unconscious at my desk, and instead of waking me or leaving me to suffer the consequences of my workaholic tendencies, she’d covered me.
The gesture feels absurdly intimate.
The morning unfolds in our usual careful distance. We maintain our cold war with slightly better catering.
The call comes at 2 PM on a Tuesday.
“Lucien.” Gregory’s voice through my office phone carries that particular tone that means complications
