"I wasn't informed of her presence."
Matilda.
Her voice was smooth, composed—refined down to the last syllable.
"You were not required to be."
Draven's reply came immediately.
Flat.
Unmoved.
A brief silence followed.
Measured.
"I see."
There was no offense in her tone.
No sharpness.
Just… acknowledgment.
Then—
"I assumed I would be, considering my familiarity with this estate."
"You are a guest," Draven said calmly.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
"I grew up within these walls."
Still calm.
Still elegant.
"But I understand."
Draven didn't respond.
"I also understand," she continued, "that your marriage was arranged."
A statement.
Not a question.
"It was."
"And necessary?."
"Yes."
Silence settled again.
But this time—
It wasn't empty.
"And her?" Matilda asked.
A slight shift in tone.
Not softer.
Just… more focused.
"Is she also necessary?"
A beat.
"She is my wife."
Draven's voice didn't change.
Didn't deepen.
Didn't soften.
It simply was.
"That wasn't what I asked."
Another pause.
This one longer.
"She fulfills her role."
Something in Matilda's breathing changed.
Not disappointment.
Not quite.
More like recalibration.
"I expected as much."
A quiet exhale.
Then—
"I won't interfere with your duties, Your Grace."
Polite.
Respectful.
Perfectly measured.
But she didn't leave.
"I am here for my own reasons," she added.
"And I intend to remain."
"That is your decision."
Another step.
Closer.
I could hear it.
"But I will be clear," Matilda continued, her voice lowering just slightly.
Not threatening.
Not aggressive.
Just certain.
"I have no intention of standing in the background."
Silence.
Draven finally moved.
I didn't see it—
But I felt it.
That shift in presence.
"You never did."
A pause.
And for the first time—
There was something almost resembling acknowledgment in his tone.
Not warmth.
Not fondness.
Just recognition.
"And I don't intend to start now."
Another silence.
"Do as you wish," Draven said
Final.
It wasn't permission.
It wasn't denial.
It was indifference sharpened into authority.
That was when I stepped back.
Quietly.
Before either of them could notice.
My chest felt… tight.
Not from fear.
Not entirely.
A quiet pause followed—but this time, it wasn't empty.
Then Draven's voice came again, calm… but edged.
"But understand this clearly."
A subtle shift. Not loud. Not forceful.
Just… final.
"This is not a space you compete for."
Silence.
"If there is anything you intend to preserve," he continued, his tone even, "it should be the familiarity you hold as someone I grew up with."
Not cruel.
Not gentle.
Just precise.
"Do not misplace it."
For the first time—
Matilda didn't respond immediately.
The stillness stretched, thin and tight.
Then—
"I see," she said softly.
But there was something beneath it now.
Not hurt.
Not anger.
Something colder.
Measured.
That was when I moved.
The door to the bathing chamber opened softly behind me.
Both of them turned.
I stepped out slowly, lowering my gaze just enough—my fingers lightly clasped before me.
"I… didn't realize you had a guest," I said, my voice quiet, just slightly unsteady. "I didn't mean to overhear anything."
A lie.
Carefully placed.
My eyes lifted just briefly—
And found hers.
Matilda.
Beautiful.
Composed.
And yes—
There it was.
A flicker.
Gone almost instantly.
But I saw it.
Not embarrassment.
Not quite.
Something closer to being… checked.
Interrupted.
Denied.
Good.
I let my gaze drop again, just enough to maintain the act.
Draven didn't react to me first.
He looked at Matilda.
"I am in the middle of a meeting," he said
simply.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just a statement.
A dismissal.
Matilda held his gaze for a second longer.
Then she inclined her head gracefully.
"Of course."
She turned—
But not before her eyes shifted back to me.
Just once.
A look.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But unmistakable.
This isn't over.
Then she left.
The door shut.
Soft.
Final.
I didn't move immediately.
Because I already understood.
This wasn't over.
It hadn't even begun.
My thoughts turned sharply.
Matilda wanted a place beside him.
Stephen wanted control.
And me?
I was standing directly between them.
A realization clicked.
Cold.
Precise.
Was Stephen working with her?
No…
That didn't align.
Matilda wanted Draven.
Stephen wanted—
Power.
Control.
Possibly destruction.
So why would she align with someone who might destroy the very man she claimed to love?
Another thought followed.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
Stephen wasn't working with her.
He was using her.
To remove me first.
My fingers tightened slightly at my side.
That made far more sense.
Let Matilda clear the path.
Let emotions cloud judgment.
And step in after.
A quiet breath left me.
Not fear.
Clarity.
It wouldn't be easy for her.
Not while I stood here.
Not while I held even a fraction of Draven's attention.
If trust was what kept me alive—
Then I would use it.
Properly.
Carefully.
The soft sound of the door settling pulled me from my thoughts.
I looked up.
And Draven was already watching me.
Now the real conversation would begin.
I didn't speak immediately.
The warmth that had lingered when I first walked in—fragile, unfamiliar—had already faded.
All because of Matilda.
I lowered myself into the chair slowly, my movements careful, controlled. Not weak. Not rushed. But not entirely steady either.
"…Your Grace," I began quietly.
Draven didn't answer.
He was watching me.
Waiting.
My fingers curled slightly in my lap.
"My position in this estate…" I continued, my voice softer now, almost hesitant, "is being questioned."
A pause.
"I can feel it."
Silence stretched.
I forced myself to continue.
"You've heard what's being said. You've seen how things are shifting… yet you still chose to place your trust in me."
My gaze lifted to meet his.
"Why?"
Draven didn't move at first.
Then—
He stepped forward.
Slow.
Measured.
"No one," he said calmly, "decides anything for me."
Each word landed clean. Final.
"Not my sister. Not Stephen. Not sentiment."
A slight pause.
"And certainly not fear."
His eyes held mine.
Unwavering.
"As for Matilda…" he continued, almost dismissively, "she is emotional. Sentimental."
A faint shift in his tone.
"You are not."
The words should have felt like distance.
Instead—
they sounded like evaluation.
"The moment you become ruled by emotion," he added, voice lowering slightly,
"the moment you stop being useful…"
A beat.
"I will reconsider my decision."
No anger.
No threat.
Just truth.
I stilled.
Of course.
I already knew.
Trust wasn't earned through softness.
It was maintained through value.
And yet—
a quiet thought stirred anyway.
Every man, no matter how controlled, was not immune to emotion.
Even him.
Especially him.
I inclined my head slightly.
"I understand."
But in my mind—
I smiled.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.
If I could make him amused today…
Then tomorrow—
I could make him hesitate.
And hesitation was where control began to slip.
Draven moved before I could say anything else.
He stepped closer.
Closer than necessary.
Then—
he crouched in front of me.
The movement was unexpected.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
His hand lifted, fingers settling beneath my chin, tilting my face upward.
"Then be a good wife," he said quietly.
Not gently.
Not harshly.
Just… certain.
My breath caught for half a second.
Before I could respond, he released me.
And stood.
"There's something else," he added, already turning slightly away.
"I'll be traveling to the North."
I blinked.
Surprised.
"But not as a Duke."
That made me pause.
His gaze shifted back to me.
Sharp.
Assessing.
"I'll be going as a bodyguard."
A beat.
"You're coming with me."
Silence.
Then—
I frowned slightly, confusion slipping through before I could mask it.
"…Both of us?"
"Yes."
Simple.
Certain.
No room for argument.
My surprise deepened.
Before I could respond—
Draven stepped closer again, just enough to close the space between us.
His voice dropped.
Low.
Almost amused.
"What is it?" he asked.
A pause.
"Are you worried… I'm not strong enough to protect you?"