Chapter 41 Madeline
Madeline
My alarm went off to the sound of waves I couldn’t hear. The Thorne estate never saw the ocean. Just manicured gardens and old money stone. But my phone background was still the Malice shoreline.
I rolled onto my back and reached for my phone on the nightstand.
The screen was already lit with notifications.
Handler: three messages stacked neatly, timestamped just after dawn.
Calendar reminders: blocked hours highlighted in dynasty-gold.
And on top of it all.
VINCENT CROW — 1 message.
First rule: structure before dopamine.
I dropped my head back on the pillow and exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over his name a second longer than it should have, then slid away.
I opened the shared doc app he’d had Luca build for me. Crow-clean design, no dynasty branding, just neat sections and his initials tucked in the corner of the header in small, sharp font.
MORNING CHECK-IN — MADELINE
Location: Thorne main estate, east wing, my room.
Sleep: 5 hours, broken. Woke twice, no panic. Back asleep within 10 minutes each time.
Body: tired. Head clear. Chest tight but manageable. Period finished two days ago.
Today’s obligations: breakfast with Grandfather at 8. Handler fitting at 9. Water-rights follow-up call at 11. Free from 14:00
Mood: soft. Missing you. Not drowning yet.
I hesitated, then added:
Dreamed about Malice house. You making coffee. Me stealing your shirt. Woke up and missed your snoring-that-isn’t-snoring.
I hit send. The doc synced, little green tick appearing beside my name.
Second step: visual audit.
I got up walked to my wardrobe top rail was Thorne-approved: creams, blush, diplomatic dresses. The lower drawers were Vince’s domain now.
Lingerie drawer: rows of sets folded with terrifying precision. Blacks, wines, soft blues, lace and silk, every piece tagged in the app he’d built. I picked up my phone, opened our private “Mornings” thread, and waited for the prompt.
It appeared before I could blink.
Vince
Show me what you’re thinking, angel.
The little typing bubble waited like it knew I would obey.
I bit my lip and reached for a set he’d had sent last week: deep green, soft, barely-there.
Quick selfie in the mirror, from collarbone to mid-thigh. I sent it with a soft flutter in my stomach.
Madeline
Morning.
The reply came fast enough to make me smile.
Fuck me.
That colour is staying.
Good morning, baby.
That warm feeling consumed me. I tucked one knee back onto the bed as I typed.
Assessment: acceptable?
Assessment: exquisite.
Spin for me.
I rolled my eyes at the phone, propped it against the lamp, set the timer, and did exactly that — slow turn, hair loose. Video sent. My cheeks felt hotter than the room.
His voice note arrived instead of text this time. I pressed play and his rough morning tone filled my bedroom.
“Tal ven arik,” he murmured in Crow, that low, sleep-rough cadence that always sounded like it belonged whispered against skin. “Ven tal. Ven duchan, ven amar.”
I closed my eyes and translated under my breath as he spoke.
I love you more than the city. You’re my home. My morning. My first thought.
He knew I’d catch all of it now.
Another text followed on the back of it.
Translation angel.
I lay back, phone above my face, and typed.
You said you love me more than Villain. I’m your home, your morning, your first thought.
You also sound smug about it.
That’s my girl.
Perfect translation. I am smug about it. You’re learning too fast.
Something in me stretched at the praise. Only then did I notice the second message from him sitting just above the voice note, unread in my distraction.
I need you today. Clear your afternoon. Block 14:00–19:00 for me.
My heart skipped.
That reads suspiciously like a booty call, Mr Crow.
Watch your mouth, Ms Thorne.
I am a respectable dynasty leader. I would never send a booty call in writing.
A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it.
So it’s an emotional support… appointment?
It’s your dom informing you he requires his sub’s presence.
I bit my lip, smile refusing to be contained.
Bold of you to assume I’m free.
He didn’t answer with text this time. The screen flashed with an incoming call: VINCENT.
I answered before the second ring.
“Good morning, Daddy.”
He exhaled, the sound going hot straight through the speaker. “That’s how we’re starting the day?”
“You asked me to adjust to the new settings. I’m adjusting.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, no attempt at restraint. I could hear the rustle of sheets on his end. “Morning, baby.”
“So. Explain your needy little message.”
“My needy little message,” he repeated, that almost-laugh I knew well sitting under the words. “You gonna mock me when I tell you I want you?”
“You said need,” I corrected. “Sounds very urgent. Very… booty-call coded.”
“Booty-call coded,” he echoed. “You and Rome need to stop talking.”
“We didn’t talk about you,” I lied badly.
He caught it immediately. “Liar.”
I grinned at the ceiling.
“So? Is it a booty call or not?”
“It’s a Vince call. Stronger than a booty call, more dangerous than a calendar invite.”
“That is not a category.”
“It is now.” I heard him shift, the faint creak of his mattress.
“I need you today. I’ve had three days of men trying to out-stupid each other in boardrooms, and your debrief last night started with ‘I’m fine’ and ended with you writing five lines about feeling like glass.
I’m done with screens for a minute. I want you in my bed where I can see how you’re actually breathing. ”
Heat and relief tangled low in my chest.
“I have obligations. Breakfast. Handler. Water-rights call.”
“What time are you finished letting old men drain your life force?”
“Probably one. Two, latest.”
“Perfect.” Paper rustled on his end. He was probably flipping through something and rewriting my day over it.
“Car will be at the side entrance at fourteen hundred. Same driver as last time. You go straight downstairs after your call. No lingering for extra ‘just one more thing, Madeleine’ bullshit.”
I rolled onto my side, pulling my knees up, phone pressed between ear and pillow.
“Is Villain on fire? Are you summoning me as a strategic asset? A dynasty consultant? A very pretty hostage?”
He scoffed. “Villain’s always on fire. I’m summoning you as my girl. That’s it.”
There it was. The stupid, dangerous wife treatment tucked under the word girl as casually as breathing.
“You could have just asked,” I said, trying to pretend my lungs hadn’t expanded on that sentence alone.
“I did. In Crow.”
He slid into dialect again, into the lower register he only used for me. “Ven amar tal ven duchan, amar ven Madeline. Tal ven harik, ven tal. Akar ven shev’tar.”
The words rolled through the speaker like he was saying them at my throat, not into a line.
“Translate,” he said.
My heart picked up speed. “You said… you want me in your day. In your arms. You want to hear my breathing in person instead of through a screen. You need me on your chest to calm your head.”
Silence for a moment.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice gone rough. “Perfect. You missed one word.”
My stomach dipped. “Which one?”
“Shev’tar. The way I use it with you? It’s closer to… anchor. Or… wife-shaped.”
Heat flooded my face. “That is not a direct translation.”
“Crow doesn’t have a direct translation for what you are yet. We keep breaking the language around you.”
I put my forearm over my eyes and tried very hard not to let that sentence wreck my entire morning.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered.
“You love it.”
Annoyingly, I did.
“What about you? What do your messages look like this morning?”
“Already checked in with my brothers. Luca’s at the casino. Bastion’s at one of the clubs. Rome’s pretending he doesn’t have a soft spot for some idiot gambler we keep bailing out.”
“And your mood?”
A pause. When he spoke again.
“Restless. I’ve had you on a screen and in my head for two weeks. Malice pulled something open and I haven’t been able to shut it again. Every meeting feels like an interruption.”
Warmth spread through my chest, mixed with guilt.
“I’m sorry,”
“Don’t apologise for that. You’re the fix, not the problem.
That’s why I’m calling in my slot. I want the afternoon.
” He paused and I heard something click.
His lighter. “I need a boring and domestic afternoon with my girl. You’re going to eat.
You’re going to nap on my chest while I pretend to read and secretly just watch you breathe. ”
That part hit harder than the implied filth.
“Booty call plus admin. Very efficient.”
“I’m an empire builder, baby. We multitask.”
A small, reluctant smile pulled at my mouth.
I swallowed. “You really need me today?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Something inside me settled at the honesty of it.
“Okay. Then you have me.”
“Say it in my tongue,” he said.
“You’re so demanding.”
“I’m so in love with you. Humour me.”
I rolled onto my back again, staring up at the ornate ceiling. I whispered it back to him.
He made a sound that wasn’t quite a groan.
“I’m going to marry you,” he muttered in Crow, half under his breath, like he’d forgotten I could catch enough now to understand the shape of it.
“I have to get up,” I complained.
“Yes. Out of bed, feet on the floor. I want to hear it.”
“You want to supervise me standing up.”
“I want to know you’re not going to curl back into a ball. Feet. Floor. Now.”
Bossy bastard.
I sighed dramatically, flipped the covers back and swung my legs over the side. “Fine. Feet. Floor. Are you happy?”
“Good girl.” Relief threaded through his voice in a way that made my own shoulders unclench. “Now you go eat. You’ll text me a photo of your breakfast so I know it’s not just coffee. You handle your call. Fourteen hundred, you’re coming home to daddy.”
I should have been terrified of how much I loved that.