Morning at the Blackwood estate arrived without softness.
The light was pale, filtered through tall windows that had witnessed generations of calculated decisions. Seraphina stood by one of them, watching the mist lift from the gardens below. The beauty was precise. Controlled. Nothing here was accidental.
Neither was the silence behind her.
“They’ll make their move today,” Lucien said.
She turned. He was already dressed—dark suit, immaculate lines, the armor he wore when the world demanded bloodless war.
“You sound certain,” she replied.
“I am.” He adjusted his cufflinks, then stopped. “My mother doesn’t summon people to intimidate them. She summons them to negotiate surrender.”
Seraphina crossed the room slowly. “And what does she want me to surrender?”
Lucien didn’t answer immed
