My father’s voice changed the air.
Not because he shouted.
Solomon Crowne did not need volume to enter a house with authority. His voice carried the kind of weight men spent lifetimes pretending to have and women recognized before they looked up.
“Where is my daughter?”
The words cut through Silver Crest’s foyer, climbed the staircase, and found me standing in the Alpha suite with one hand braced on Darius’ arm and my robe tied tight around my waist.
Darius went still beside me.
He had faced rogues, Brecken, a breached tunnel, stolen records, and Vivienne’s tears without looking afraid.
But my father’s voice?
That put something different in his eyes.
Good.
Not because I wanted him terrified.
Because some things should remind a man that a wife does not arrive from nowhere. She co
