By the time we returned to the command wing, Vivienne had been intercepted halfway down the garden path.
Not by Darius.
That mattered.
Marcus’ team found her near the cypress trees, barefoot in soft house slippers, wrapped in a cream cardigan that had no business near wet grass or tactical danger. She had not made it far. Panic had carried her out of the room, but fear had slowed her once the estate lights thinned and the garden shadows grew teeth.
She came back shaking.
Actually shaking this time.
Not the polished tremble she used in foyers and doorways when she wanted men to confuse fragility with sincerity. This was different. This was a woman whose body had finally realized danger did not care how pretty she looked afraid.
Marcus escorted her into the command wing with two guard
