Victor dared to open his eye a fraction wider.
Her face hovered inches from his, brow furrowed with a worry that didn’t look like performance. It looked like the kind of concern that existed whether anyone saw it or not.
“You shouldn’t sleep here,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You’ll get sick.”
The words held no resentment, no sarcasm.
Just quiet, practical care.
She reached for the lamp and dimmed it until the living room softened into gentle darkness.
Then she left.
The mansion swallowed her footsteps.
Victor lay frozen long after the kitchen light clicked off, long after he heard the faint hush of a bedroom door upstairs.
He didn’t move for ten minutes.
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