The days after that dinner with Marcus felt like walking through fog. Sophia went through the motions — polishing silver until it gleamed, folding linens that still carried the faint scent of detergent, answering Elena’s questions with careful smiles — but her mind was elsewhere. Every hallway reminded her of stolen touches. Every quiet moment made her wonder how much longer they could keep this hidden before something broke.
Victor had grown quieter, more watchful. He’d pull her into his office during the day under the pretense of work, only to sit her on his lap and talk. Real talk. About her life before Blackthorn, about the mother she rarely saw, about the fear that still lived in her chest that one wrong move would send everything crashing down. His hand would rest on her thigh the w
