Chapter 4

The week before the Blood Moon Conclave passed in a blur of careful deception.

By day—or rather, by the hours when Damien was occupied with coven business—I played the devoted wife. I smiled at his excuses, accepted his hollow apologies for missed dinners, and let him believe his secrets remained buried. At night, I hunted.

It started with the boutique.

I paid a small fortune to bribe the shop manager—a nervous human woman named Patricia who asked no questions when I pressed five thousand dollars into her palm. In exchange, she arranged a temporary position for me: filing paperwork, organizing inventory, staying invisible.

The disguise was simple. A brunette wig. Brown contact lenses. Clothes plain enough to render me forgettable.

Vivienne Thorne's private office was on the second floor, behind a door marked Staff Only.

I waited three days before I found my opportunity. Vivienne had a standing appointment every Thursday afternoon—a "business meeting" that always ran exactly two hours. Long enough.

The moment her car pulled away, I slipped upstairs.

The office reeked of her perfume—jasmine and something cloyingly sweet. But beneath the floral assault, I caught traces of Damien's cologne embedded in the furniture, the curtains, the very walls.

The décor made my stomach turn. The paintings on the walls were pieces my mother had selected—I recognized her taste immediately. The antique writing desk had belonged to my father's collection. They had decorated this space for her. A sanctuary for my husband's mistress, furnished with my family's approval.

On the desk, half-hidden beneath a stack of floral sketches, I found what I was looking for.

A silver-framed photograph.

Damien and Vivienne stood in a moonlit garden, both dressed in ceremonial black. Around them, witnesses formed a loose circle—and among those faces, I recognized every single one. My parents. Damien's parents. Elder Ashworth, who had presided over our own bonding ceremony.

The photograph was dated three months before Damien had ever spoken a word to me.

They had performed a shadow binding. An unofficial union, unsanctioned by the coven but binding nonetheless in the old ways. Vivienne hadn't been his mistress.

She had been his first wife.

My hands didn't shake as I photographed the image. They didn't shake as I planted the tiny recording device beneath the desk. They didn't shake as I slipped back downstairs and resumed my filing as though nothing had happened.

That night, I sat alone in the guest wing, earbuds in, listening.

Damien's voice came through first: "Everything must be finalized before the Conclave. Sebastian's formal presentation to the Elders cannot wait any longer."

"And if she objects?" Vivienne's voice, sharp with impatience.

"She won't." He laughed—that low, dismissive sound I had once found charming. "Seraphina is nothing if not accommodating. Her parents have already signed the endorsement documents."

"And afterward? What becomes of her?"

"She'll remain Lady of the House—in name only. A ceremonial figurehead." A pause. "She'll accept it. She always does."

I removed the earbuds and stared at the wall.

Ceremonial figurehead. That was all I had ever been to him.

The next day, I returned to retrieve the device—but Patricia met me at the back entrance, her face pale.

"You need to leave. Now. Miss Thorne came back early. She's been watching the security footage."

I pressed more bills into her palm. "If anyone asks, you never learned my real name."

I moved toward the delivery exit—but froze when I heard the sharp click of heels behind me.

"Stop right there."

Vivienne stood at the other end of the corridor, arms crossed. "The agency has no record of sending anyone. So who are you really?"

Before I could respond, the service door burst open and Patricia stumbled through.

"Miss Thorne! There's a problem with the Ashworth order—Lady Ashworth is on line two, demanding to speak with you personally."

Vivienne's jaw tightened. The Ashworths were Elder blood—not clients she could ignore.

"This isn't over," she said to me. Then she turned and strode away.

Patricia shoved me toward the exit. "Go. Don't ever come back."

I typed a single message to Eliza: Evidence secured. Conclave tomorrow.

When I returned to the manor, Damien was in his study. The moment I pushed open the door, he ended his call and rose to greet me.

"You've been out quite a bit lately, darling." His tone was casual, but I felt him pressing against the blood bond, searching for fractures in my composure.

I let him find exactly what he expected: weariness, devotion, melancholy.

"Just running errands," I said lightly. "I want to look perfect for the Conclave."

His shoulders relaxed. "You always look perfect. Tomorrow will be a night to remember."

Oh, it certainly will be.

At that moment, his phone screen lit up on the desk behind him.

A new message. From my mother.

"Everything is arranged. Tomorrow at the Conclave, I'll bring Sebastian to Seraphina myself and help her understand that adoption is the only reasonable path forward. She's always listened to me."

My nails bit into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping me from screaming.

"Something wrong?" Damien asked.

"Just tired. I should rest before tomorrow."

He kissed my forehead. "Get some sleep, darling."

After he left, I moved to the window. The Blood Moon was already rising, staining the sky crimson.

Tomorrow, they would spring their trap.

Tomorrow, I would spring mine.