The suite in the West Wing was too quiet.
It wasn't the peaceful silence of a home; it was the suffocating silence of a waiting room. Emily paced the length of the bedroom, the hem of her silk nightgown brushing against her ankles.
The image of Ethan and Seraphina laughing in the snow was burned into her retina. It played on a loop in her mind, feeding the static that buzzed at the base of her skull.
He is forgetting you, the voice whispered. You are fading.
"No," Emily said aloud to the empty room. "He is my husband. He is my mate."
She looked at the clock. 11:00 PM. Ethan would be finishing his briefing with the War Council soon. He would come back here to change before sleeping in the study.
This was her chance.
Dr. Vane’s words echoed in her ears: Fight him with the one thing Se
