Elara moved through the quiet halls of the Cross mansion, her mind still tangled with the conversation from Dante’s study. The tension between them, sharp and unspoken, refused to leave her. Every step she took carried the weight of realization. This marriage, the events of the wedding, the way Dante had watched and measured her, it was never random. Nothing had been random.
She paused outside a half-closed door at the end of the west wing, a soft light spilling out into the hallway. From inside, low voices carried, careful, deliberate, meant to be private. Her pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the need to know. She could not ignore the pull of curiosity, not now.
The first words she caught made her stomach tighten. "The deal cannot hold without the marriage," one man said, his vo
