I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw James's smile. Heard his words.
Your grandmother murdered your mother.
The folder sat on the nightstand. Unopened. Taunting me.
Alexander had been right—I shouldn't read it alone. In the dark. When everything was already falling apart.
But I couldn't stop staring at it.
3 AM. The estate was silent except for security making rounds.
I gave up on sleep.
Wrapping a silk robe around myself, I padded down the hallway. Maybe Mrs. Chen had left tea in the kitchen. Maybe walking would quiet my mind.
Maybe I'd stop feeling like I was drowning.
Light spilled from under Alexander's study door.
He was still awake.
I should have gone back to my room.
Instead, I knocked.
"Come in."
He sat behind a massive oak desk, laptop open, papers scattered everywhere. He'd changed into dark sleep pants and a white t-shirt—the most casual I'd ever seen him.
The most human.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, not looking up.
"Can you?"
"Haven't tried." He finally met my eyes. "You should be resting."
"So should you."
"I'm working."
"At three in the morning?"
"Revenge doesn't sleep." But he closed the laptop. "What's wrong?"
Everything. Nothing. All of it.
"I keep thinking about what James said. About Grandma. About my mother."
His jaw tightened. "I told you not to—"
"I know." I moved into the room. "But I can't stop. What if it's true? What if the only person who ever loved me was a murderer?"
"Then she was a murderer who loved you." He stood, rounding the desk. "People are complicated, Seraphina. We're not just one thing."
"That's a generous view coming from someone who doesn't believe in love."
"I didn't say I don't believe it exists. I said it's a weakness."
"Is it?" I stepped closer. "Or are you just afraid of it?"
His eyes narrowed. "We're not doing this again."
"Doing what?"
"This." He gestured between us. "Whatever this is where you try to psychoanalyze me at three in the morning."
"Maybe I'm trying to understand you."
"Why?"
"Because you're my husband."
"I'm your contract."
The words stung. They were supposed to.
"Right." I turned to leave. "Sorry for bothering you."
"Seraphina."
I stopped but didn't turn around.
"Stay."
My heart stuttered. "What?"
"Stay. Please." His voice softened. "I don't want to work anymore. And you shouldn't be alone with your thoughts right now."
I turned slowly.
He'd moved to the leather couch by the fireplace, patting the seat beside him.
"We can talk. Or not talk. Just... stay."
This was dangerous.
Being alone with him. In the middle of the night. When walls were down and guards were lowered.
When he looked at me like I was more than a business arrangement.
I sat.
Not too close. But not far enough.
"Tell me about your mother," he said quietly.
The request surprised me. "Why?"
"Because I want to know. And because talking might help."
I pulled my knees up, wrapping the robe tighter. "She was beautiful. Kind. Everyone said she was too good for my father. Too soft."
"What do you remember most?"
"Her laugh." A smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "It was loud. Unrestrained. The kind that made everyone else want to laugh too. My father hated it. Said it was undignified."
"He's an idiot."
I laughed—sharp and unexpected. "Yes. Yes, he is."
"How did she die?"
The smile faded. "They said it was a car accident. She was driving home late from a charity event. Lost control on a wet road. Went over a bridge."
"You don't believe it."
"I don't know what to believe anymore." I looked at him. "But I remember the night before. She seemed scared. Kept looking over her shoulder. When I asked what was wrong, she just hugged me tight and said, 'I love you. Never forget that.'"
Alexander's hand found mine. Just held it.
"The next day, she was dead," I whispered. "And no one talked about it. My father remarried within six months. To Victoria. Like my mother never existed."
"How old were you?"
"Eight."
His grip tightened. "You were a child."
"I was alone." The tears came without permission. "Grandma tried. She loved me. But she was sick even then. Weak. And my father... he looked at me like I reminded him of everything he wanted to forget."
"That's not your fault."
"Isn't it? If I'd been different. Better. Maybe he would have—"
"Stop." Alexander pulled me toward him. "Listen to me. Your father is a weak, pathetic excuse for a man. Your stepmother is a monster. And if your mother's death wasn't an accident, then someone will pay for it. But none of that is your fault. Understood?"
I nodded against his chest.
He smelled like cedar and something expensive. His heart beat steady beneath my cheek.
This was too intimate.
Too real.
But I couldn't pull away.
"Tell me about your parents," I said softly. "Fair trade."
He tensed. "There's nothing to tell."
"Liar."
A pause. Then: "My father was cruel. A drunk. A bully who enjoyed watching others suffer."
"And your mother?"
"Loved him anyway. Or maybe she was just too scared to leave. I never figured out which." His voice was carefully empty. "She died first. Heart attack. He followed six months later. Drove his car into a tree. Police said it was an accident. I knew better."
"Suicide?"
"Guilt, maybe. Or just stupidity. Either way, they're gone. Mrs. Chen took over raising me. She's the only reason I'm not completely broken."
I pulled back to look at him. "You're not broken."
"How would you know?"
"Because broken people don't build empires. Don't protect others. Don't..." I trailed off.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make me feel safe when the whole world is falling apart."
The air between us shifted.
Charged.
Dangerous.
His hand moved to my face. Thumb tracing my jaw.
"You shouldn't feel safe with me," he murmured. "I'm not a good man, Seraphina."
"I don't believe that."
"You should." But he didn't pull away. "I've destroyed companies. Ruined lives. I'm ruthless. Cold. Exactly like my father in all the ways that matter."
"No." I covered his hand with mine. "You're nothing like him. A man like him wouldn't have saved me. Wouldn't have fought for me. Wouldn't be sitting here at three in the morning making sure I'm okay."
"Maybe I'm just protecting my investment."
"Is that what this is?" I leaned closer. "An investment?"
His breathing changed. "It's supposed to be."
"But it's not."
"No." The word was rough. Honest. "It's not."
We were too close now. Inches apart. His eyes dark and intense.
"Alexander—"
"We shouldn't do this," he said.
"I know."
"It'll complicate everything."
"I know."
"You might get hurt."
"I'm already hurt." I touched his face. "Maybe we both are. Maybe that's okay."
His control was fracturing. I could see it. Feel it.
"If we cross this line—"
"Then we cross it." My heart hammered. "I'm tired of following rules. Tired of being who everyone else wants me to be. For once, I want to do something reckless. Something real."
"This is real," he breathed. "That's the problem."
Then he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Desperate.
Like he'd been holding back for weeks and finally broke.
His hand tangled in my hair. The other pulled me closer, until I was in his lap, against his chest, drowning in him.
I kissed him back just as desperately.
All the pain. The fear. The loneliness. Everything poured into that kiss.
He tasted like whiskey and danger and something uniquely him.
Addictive.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to mine.
"This changes everything," he whispered.
"Good." I was trembling. "I want it to change."
"The contract—"
"To hell with the contract." I cupped his face. "Tell me you feel this. That I'm not imagining it."
His eyes were storm-dark. Intense. Raw.
"I feel it." His voice was rough. "I've felt it since the night I found you in the rain. You were broken and beautiful and so damn fierce. And I knew—I knew you'd be dangerous."
"Dangerous how?"
"Because you make me want things I swore I'd never want again." He kissed me again. Softer this time. "You make me want to be better. To believe in something other than power and revenge."
"Is that so bad?"
"It's terrifying." He pulled back, searching my face. "I don't know how to do this. How to be... soft. Vulnerable. Whatever this requires."
"Neither do I." I smiled. "We can figure it out together."
"You sure you want to? I come with a lot of damage, Seraphina. A lot of darkness."
"So do I." I kissed him. "Maybe we balance each other out."
He smiled—a real smile. Rare. Beautiful.
"Maybe we do."
We stayed like that. Tangled together on the couch. Talking quietly. Kissing occasionally.
Somewhere around four AM, I fell asleep against his chest.
Safe.
Wanted.
Real.