The scent that clung to his shirt—not expensive cologne but something cleaner. Soap and coffee and the faint trace of exhaustion that followed him everywhere. She breathed it in, let it replace the phantom cedar that haunted her dreams.

"You okay back there?" Sabrina’s voice drifted from the front. Quiet. Not mocking.

Vivienne didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat had closed completely.

"Vivi’s asleep," Cassidy said. Her voice was flat. Empty of the anger from before. "Leave her alone."

The car continued through the night. Trees passed in shadows and moonlight. Streetlights strobed orange light across the interior, painting everything in brief moments of gold before returning to darkness. Vivienne kept her eyes closed. Pretended she was still dreaming.

Maybe if she didn’t move, this moment would last.

Maybe if she stayed very still, morning wouldn’t come and destroy whatever fragile thing existed between her and the boy currently serving as her pillow.

Isaiah shifted slightly beneath her. His hand moved, fingers spreading wider on her waist. The motion was unconscious. Automatic. Pulling her closer even in sleep, as if his body recognized something his waking mind wouldn’t admit.

Valentines didn’t cry.

Mama had made that rule clear after the funeral. Tears were weakness. Weakness was unacceptable. The company demanded strength, composure, unbreakable walls. Crying was for people who had the luxury of falling apart. Heiresses didn’t have that privilege.

But Vivienne’s eyes burned anyway.

She pressed her face harder against Isaiah’s chest. Breathed in the scent that wasn’t cedar but was somehow just as safe. Let the tears slide silently down her cheeks where nobody could see them. Where the darkness and Isaiah’s shirt absorbed them completely.

"I miss him," she whispered. So quiet the words barely existed. "I miss him so much."

Isaiah’s arm tightened around her. Still asleep. Still pulling her closer.

Like he heard.

Like he knew.

Like somewhere in the depths of sleep, he understood that she was breaking apart and chose to hold her together anyway.

Vivienne’s fingers twisted harder in his vest. Held on like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away. The dream where her father told her she was enough, that working hard mattered more than perfect execution, that love didn’t require quarterly projections or brand alignment—that dream was gone.

But maybe this was okay too.

Maybe warm enough was good enough.

Maybe someone else’s heartbeat could remind her what it felt like to be safe.

The car slowed. Stopped at what was probably a red light. Started again. The motion rocked them gently, like being cradled. Through the window, she caught glimpses of familiar landmarks. The twenty-four hour diner where she’d never eaten. The gas station where normal people filled normal cars with normal concerns about gas prices instead of market fluctuations.

Isaiah’s hand moved again, thumb brushing across the small of her back in a gesture so gentle it made her chest ache. Still unconscious. Still just reacting to her presence, her weight against him.

Vivienne let sleep pull her under again. Surrendered to it. Her last conscious thought was that Isaiah smelled nothing like her father, that the angles were all wrong, that this moment would end the second they reached the manor and reality reasserted itself.

But for now, in the space between awake and dreaming, with his arms around her and her sisters watching over both of them...

For now, she could pretend the world was kind.

The Range Rover’s engine changed pitch. Decelerated. The smooth highway became rougher pavement, the transition subtle but enough to wake her. The familiar bump where the public road met their private drive. The gentle incline that meant home, whether she wanted to face it or not.

Vivienne’s eyes opened slowly. Darkness still surrounded them but different darkness now. Familiar. The trees lining the private drive to the manor cast deeper shadows, older and more deliberate than the wild growth along the highway. The gates they’d just passed through—wrought iron and pretension, the Valentine crest worked into the metalwork like a brand.

She was still draped across Isaiah. Her head on his chest. Her leg between his. His hand still warm on her waist, fingers splayed possessively across the silk of her gown.

She should move.

Should sit up.

Should restore the boundaries she’d demolished by falling asleep on her employee like he was furniture designed specifically for her comfort.

Vivienne didn’t move.

Isaiah’s breathing had changed. Not quite awake but close. That space where consciousness returns piece by piece, where the mind surfaces reluctantly from whatever peace it found in sleep. His fingers flexed against her hip. Not pulling away. Just adjusting. Finding a better grip.

The motion sent heat straight through her costume and into her skin.

"We’re home," Sabrina said from the driver’s seat. Her voice was completely neutral. Like finding Vivienne plastered to Isaiah was the most normal thing in the world. Like she hadn’t just witnessed the perfect Valentine daughter lose every ounce of composure she’d spent years building. "You two want to get up, or should I just carry you both inside like matching luggage?"

Cassidy snorted. The sound was sharp. Bitter. Full of implications that Vivienne wasn’t ready to unpack.

Harlow made a soft noise. Something between laughter and tears, the kind of sound that meant she’d seen too much, understood too much.

Vivienne forced herself to lift her head. The motion dislodged her position. Made space appear between her body and Isaiah’s. Space that felt wrong. Cold. Like losing something precious she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Isaiah’s eyes opened. Those dark brown irises found hers immediately. Close enough to see the green flecks that caught light when he was thinking. Close enough to count his eyelashes if she wanted to, to notice the slight stubble along his jaw that spoke of a seventeen-year-old trying to look older than his years.

They stared at each other.

His hand was still on her waist. Her fingers still gripped his vest.

The air between them felt heavy. Charged. Like the moment before lightning strikes when every hair stands on end.

"Hi," he said. His voice was rough. Sleep-heavy. The word came out lower than usual, rougher around the edges in a way that made her stomach flip.

"Hi."