Chapter 2
Hanna
Ifelt ridiculous in my getup as I made my way up the elevator of Ashvale Potions. I should’ve known my outfit was a bad idea the moment I had to call in three of the females who worked at our home to zip it up.
The dress was red—bold, brave, and exactly one size tighter than my pride.
It hugged every curve like it was auditioning for a job, and my heels were tall enough to qualify as an Olympic sport.
But my mother had insisted that I start visiting the company and that this would be what I was wearing to do it.
By the time I reached his building, my toes had gone numb, my thighs were plotting rebellion, and my lip gloss could’ve blinded a small animal.
I caught my reflection in the mirrored doors—hair laid, skin glowing, smile sharp enough to cut glass—and for a second, I wondered if every time I looked into a mirror for the rest of my life, I’d never see myself reflected back.
Ignoring that depressing thought and focusing instead on the lunch that I’d made and packed for Corwin—although I was almost certain that he wouldn’t eat it just like he hadn’t eaten every other meal I’d ever made for him.
Instead he spent the time commenting on how high in fat all the ingredients were.
The lunch was tucked nicely inside a little bag with the Greyleaf’s Apothecary logo on it.
Yet another touch that my mother insisted on.
She’d assured me that reminding him what I was bringing to the table would never fail to ensure that a male was satisfied with who he was marrying. I wasn’t so certain, but I wasn’t the expert on these kinds of marriages either.
I’d never even been in a long term relationship before and certainly not one that was heading toward the aisle. So I took my mother’s expert advice and followed the step-by-step plan she’d laid out for me the moment I’d been introduced to Corwin.
As the elevator stopped and the doors opened onto an immaculately white floor, I straightened my shoulders, adjusted the dress that had no business being that tight, and wobbled my way forward like a woman who refused to trip—even if the ground gave out beneath her.
The second I stepped inside, I knew I didn’t belong—or maybe I just didn’t want to. The place screamed money in that quiet, smug way that only white marble floors could. Every footstep echoed like a warning.
Be careful not to scuff the perfection.
The air smelled faintly of coffee and what I assumed would be called ambition if it was bottled.
The walls were lined with abstract art that probably cost more than an average annual salary, but still looked like someone lost a paint fight.
The receptionist’s smile was the kind you practiced in a mirror—polite, symmetrical, and utterly bored—until she recognized who I was and that smile was lost to widened eyes.
“Ms. Greyleaf,” she said, standing. “I didn’t realize you’d be in today.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I told her, smiling sweetly. “I just brought lunch for Corwin.”
“H-he isn’t in his office,” she said, giving a wide smile that seemed plastered on. “He’ll be back later. Why don’t you leave it with me and I’ll make sure he gets it?”
Usually, that would be exactly what I would do. I wasn’t one who would push more than she was expected to. But something poked at me from the back of my mind. Something that told me I needed to head down the corridor to his office. My grandmother’s advice rang in my head.
If you get a gut feeling, then you have to follow it. A witch’s instinct is something that we’ve finely honed over the centuries. Listen to it. It knows better than you do.
“That’s okay,” I told the receptionist, swiping my sweaty palm down the side of my dress. “I’ll just drop this in his office and use the bathroom while I’m in there.”
I tilted my head and gave her my most innocent smile, adding a little finger wave that I’d learned from my mother, turning away from her. Her protest was a garbled sound that I ignored as I continued down in the direction of his office.
The corridor leading to it was too quiet—the kind of silence that made every sound feel like a violation.
White marble stretched out ahead of me like a runway for bad decisions, gleaming under the soft, sterile lights.
The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and money—lean, cold, and entirely impersonal.
His assistant’s desk sat just outside the frosted-glass doors, neat as a showroom—except for one glaring detail. It was empty. No Liora. No smug half-smile as she eyed me with catty eyes that I’d grown used to seeing every time I visited.
Not even the usual stack of color-coded folders she guarded like a dragon. Just her swivel chair turned slightly toward his office, as if she’d left in a hurry—or hadn’t had to go far.
A single pen rolled lazily on the polished wood when the air vent kicked on. I stared at it, my stomach tightening. Something about the stillness felt rehearsed, like the building itself was holding its breath, waiting for me to open the door and ruin the illusion.
I gave myself a small shake, my mind insisting that I was being fanciful and ridiculous—like always, my mother’s voice said to me in my head. There wasn’t anything to be seen here. I was going to go into his immaculate office and drop the lunch I’d made on his desk.
I’d message him to let him know, and he’d respond after hours to say that I shouldn’t have. While also adding in a half-dozen complaints about how terrible the food looked. He was such a snob. Nothing was ever good enough for him. But my mother insisted that this was the way to win him over.
Not that I really want to marry him, anyway.
My mouth tightened in a line, but I straightened my spine and made my way to the doors. If I was going to marry this male, then I was going to have to at least try. The thought made me nauseated, but I girded myself and continued on.
My hand hovered over the handle. For a second, I almost laughed—that nervous kind of laugh you give when every instinct is screaming don’t do it, but your curiosity’s already halfway through the door.
The frosted glass blurred the shapes inside. There was a hint of movement, maybe a shadow. My pulse drummed against my throat. I told myself it could be a meeting. A client. Anything normal.
I pushed the door open. And for some reason, I wasn’t surprised. There was no shock as I stared at what was in front of me.
Corwin was standing behind his desk—or, more accurately, pressed up against it—with Liora perched right in front of him, her hands tangled in his hair.
The kind of tableau you never forget, no matter how badly you want to.
Her blazer was hanging off one shoulder like a bad excuse, and his tie was nowhere to be found.
For a beat, no one spoke. The silence had weight, thick and humiliating. It stuck to my skin like humidity. Then Liora gasped and stumbled forward, into him, straightening her blouse, and Corwin had the nerve to look surprised.
I blinked at them both, calm in a way that told me I wasn’t fully processing the situation yet.
“Oh,” I said finally, stepping inside. “So this is why she’s not at her desk.”
Liora’s mouth opened and closed like a fish in too-shallow water. Corwin started babbling something about deadlines, as if that explained his hands being where they shouldn’t be.
I didn’t respond, continuing to take in their stumbling around, adjusting clothes, listening to them speak even though I couldn’t hear a single word with the white noise that had suddenly begun in my head.
He started toward me, stammering my name, but I was already backing up—slow, deliberate, unbothered.
I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.
I adjusted my purse, smoothed my dress—that too-tight, too-bold thing I’d worn suddenly feeling like armor—and gave him one last look.
“I guess the engagement’s off then,” I said, softly. I’d examine the intense relief that flooded my system later. When I was alone.
I turned, letting my heels echo down that perfect marble corridor like punctuation marks on the end of something that had never really begun.