The house was too quiet.
Every step Damien took echoed like a warning. Elira wasn’t in their bed. Not in the kitchen. Not in the nursery. And Delilah? She was nowhere to be seen either.
He didn’t like it.
The Blackwood estate—once his kingdom—now felt like a cracked throne with shadows bleeding through the walls. Valencia was out there somewhere, scheming with Soren. And now Delilah was planted inside the heart of it all.
He knew something was coming.
And it wouldn’t be kind.
Upstairs, a sound—a drawer closing. His chest tightened.
He pushed the door open.
Elira stood at the vanity, brushing her hair like nothing was wrong. But there was a stiffness in her shoulders. An edge to her calm.
“You’re up early,” Damien said.
She didn’t look at him. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He stepped closer.
