The morning sunlight was harsh against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. It was almost unforgiving, as if the city itself demanded clarity. Seraphina stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee into her favorite mug, but the warmth did nothing to settle the knot of anticipation twisting in her stomach.
Lucien Blackwood had been quiet all morning. Not absent, not distant—just deliberately controlled, the way he always was when he was wrestling with something he didn’t want to admit. And today, Seraphina could feel the storm behind his composure.
She braced herself.
“Good morning,” she said cautiously, testing the silence.
His eyes lifted from the papers he was reviewing. “Morning.”
The single word felt heavier than it should.
“I assume you’ve read the board’s response,” he said
