Thorn Manor's west wing exhaled winter's breath through its marrow, frost etching skeletal patterns on leaded glass. Luna's footsteps echoed through the gallery of ancestral portraits—stern-faced matriarchs judging her retreat. She slammed the bedroom door, velvet drapes billowing like specters in her wake.
Caleb's cologne lingered—sandalwood and betrayal. Luna tore the veil free, its silk hissing against her collarbone. Through the mullioned window, shadows merged on the frost-laced lawn—Hua Rong's crimson laugh swallowed by Caleb's midnight silhouette.
The door groaned. Caleb leaned against the frame, moonlight sharpening his smirk to a blade's edge. "Enjoying the theatrics, Mrs. Thorn?"
She hurled a porcelain hairbrush. It shattered against the doorframe, shards catching in his unbuttoned collar. "Does your PR director know you collect broken things?"
He stepped over the debris, eyes tracking the pulse in her throat. "Hua Rong handles mergers. You handle… domestic affairs."
Luna's laugh tasted of arsenic. "How progressive. Shall I fetch her tea? Fluff your pillows?"
His thumb brushed a stray hairpin's edge. "Jealousy smells divine on you."
Hua Rong materialized like a wound in the doorway, vermillion lips curving. "Darling, the board awaits your—" Her gaze snagged on Caleb's hand at Luna's waist.
"The maid was just leaving." Luna twisted free, voice sweetened with venom. "Shall I draw your bath, sir? Scrub your mergers clean?"
Caleb's chuckle followed her into the hall. "Mind the rose thorns, little mouse."
The parlor's hearth spat embers as Luna knelt, arranging blood-red roses. Their perfume choked her—cloying, funereal. A butterscotch candy struck her temple, rolling across Persian carpets.
Caleb lounged on the Chesterfield, newspaper abandoned. "Fetch me a cognac, maid."
She hurled the candy back. It grazed his jawline, leaving a sticky trail. "Fetch it yourself, sir."
Mr. Grayson's teacup rattled on its saucer. The staff scattered like startled hens.
Caleb rose, crushing the candy beneath his Oxfords. "Defiant today."
"You prefer sycophants?" She gestured to the lawn where Hua Rong's laughter still clung to the topiaries. "Go collect your praise."
His fingers closed around her wrist, pressing it to the rose thorns. "Careful. Even porcelain cracks."
A petal drifted between them, bleeding onto marble. Somewhere, a grandfather clock tolled midnight—another hour lost to their war.
The library's grandfather clock tolled midnight as Luna retreated to the kitchen, her pulse a trapped bird beneath her ribs. Steam rose from the consommé, fogging the copper pots into distorted mirrors. She gripped the ladle until her knuckles whitened—He brought her here. He wants her to stay.
Caleb's laughter rumbled through the dining hall, sharpened by Hua Rong's saccharine purr. "The Tokyo merger requires… personal oversight."
Luna's spoon clattered against porcelain. The broth sloshed, scalding her fingertips. She hissed—a sound swallowed by the hearth's crackle.
"Clumsy mouse." Caleb materialized in the doorway, his shadow stretching across her trembling hands.
She jerked away. "I'll fetch fresh bowls."
His fingers closed around her wrist, turning her palm upward. The burn bloomed crimson—a stigmata of pride. "Does it hurt?"
"Only when you pretend to care."
His lips brushed the wound. Luna's breath hitched. Somewhere beyond the spice racks, Hua Rong's stilettos tapped a staccato warning.
The dining table became a battlefield. Hua Rong's vermillion nails traced the rim of her wineglass, eyes slitting as Luna served dessert. "Such… quaint service. Does the manor lack proper staff?"
Caleb's fork speared a raspberry, its juices bleeding across gilt china. "Luna prefers hands-on management."
Hua Rong's smile curdled. "How provincial."
Luna's knuckles grazed Caleb's shoulder as she refilled his water—a fleeting touch that lingered in the clench of his jaw.
Midnight found Luna scrubbing brandy snifters in the butler's pantry. The scent of Caleb's cologne clung to the crystal—bergamot and betrayal. Hua Rong's voice slithered under the door: "Shall I review the merger in your chambers?"
Glass shattered. Blood welled across Luna's palm as she crouched to gather shards.
"Careless," Caleb murmured behind her.
She spun, ceramic fragments scattering. "Don't you have mergers to oversee?"
His thumb swiped blood from her lifeline. "Jealousy becomes you."
"This isn't—"
The pantry door burst open. Hua Rong's gasp echoed off copper pans. "Am I interrupting?"
Luna yanked her hand free. "The maid was just leaving."
The west wing corridor swallowed Luna's hurried footsteps. Hua Rong's perfume pursued her—jasmine and venom.
"Fetch something for me." The director's whisper carried the weight of conquest. "Condoms. Two boxes."
Luna's reflection warped in the hallway mirror—veil askew, eyes blazing. "Does Thorn Manor stock your preferred brand?"
Hua Rong's laugh skittered like cockroaches. "Extra large. Caleb strikes me as… generously proportioned."
The slam of Luna's bedroom door shook ancestral portraits from their slumber. Through the keyhole's fisheye lens, she watched shadows merge at Caleb's chamber door—Hua Rong's crimson nails curling around the jamb, Caleb's silhouette bending to meet them.
Beneath her pillow, the kitchen knife's edge gleamed. Luna traced its cold steel, imagining crimson petals falling on Hua Rong's throat.
The grandfather clock tolled once.
Somewhere, a woman screamed.