.
While Damien worked in his study, Evelyn lingered just outside the doorway, her fingers tracing the intricate wood carvings along the frame. The house always felt too quiet in moments like this, as if it were holding its breath along with her.
“Damien?” she said softly.
He looked up from his laptop, eyebrows lifting slightly in that familiar way that made her stomach tighten. For a second, his expression softened—just a fraction—before the usual guarded look returned.
“Your grandfather… why does he want me there specifically?” she asked, stepping halfway into the room.
Damien leaned back in his leather chair, studying her for a long moment. The lamp on his desk cast sharp shadows across his face. “Because in his eyes, you’re my wife now. Victor Blackwood doesn’t do things halfway. H
