CHAPTER 12
Seraphina
I didn’t sleep after he left my room. The space still felt altered, charged, like the air had shifted molecular structure simply because he stood too close to me.
“For now, we keep this controlled.”
Controlled.
As if what’s happening between us is a negotiation. As if my pulse doesn’t betray me every time he looks at me.
Morning came pale and cold. Fog clung to the estate grounds, wrapping the iron gates in something ghostly. I dressed carefully today. Black trousers, fitted blouse, hair pulled back tighter than usual. Armor disguised as composure.
If he wanted control, I would give him composure instead.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of espresso and toasted bread. Staff moved quietly. They always do. No one lingers here long enough to feel human. I poured my coffee slowly, steadying my hands.
“You’re avoiding me.”
His voice behind me. I didn’t turn immediately.
“I have lessons to prepare for.”
“From me.”
That made me look at him. He wasn’t wearing a suit today. Dark sweater, rolled sleeves. The absence of the armor made him look more dangerous somehow. More real.
“You said control,” I reminded him.
“I did.”
“Then let’s practice it.”
Silence.
His eyes darkened slightly. He stepped closer, but not enough to touch.
“Control,” he said quietly, “requires discipline from both sides.”
“And you think I don’t have it?”
His gaze flicked briefly to my mouth.
“No,” he said. “I think you’re discovering how much you don’t want it.”
The words settled low in my stomach.
Because he’s right and that terrifies me.
Later that day, he brought me into the operations wing.
It’s different from the rest of the estate, modern screens, encrypted servers, live shipping routes flashing across digital maps. The Syndicate isn’t just old money and intimidation. It’s technology. Logistics. Global reach.
He stood behind me while explaining port routes through Naples and Barcelona. I could feel him. Not touching but close enough that the heat of his body felt deliberate.
“You see this delay?” he asked, pointing at a blinking shipment route.
“Yes.”
“Someone is testing us.”
“Rival faction?”
“Possibly.”
He watched me instead of the screen.
“And how would you respond?”
The question wasn’t rhetorical. I considered it carefully.
“Not aggressively at first. Find out who benefits from the delay. Money always points to motive.”
A pause. Then, quietly
“Good.”
That single word shouldn’t have felt like a reward but it did.