We sat in silence for several minutes. The Archive’s climate control hummed softly, maintaining perfect temperature and humidity for the preservation of fabric and leather and whatever other materials went into clothes that cost more than houses. Somewhere in the distant parts of the mansion, a grandfather clock chimed the hour. Midnight. The witching hour. When pumpkins turned back into carriages and scholarship students remembered they didn’t belong in fairy tales.

"I can’t do this," Vivienne said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

My stomach dropped so fast I was surprised it didn’t crash through the floor. "Do what?"

"Any of it. The company. The expectations. The pretending I’m capable of filling shoes that were designed for someone twice my age with three times my experience." She gestured at me with trembling fingers. "You."

"I’m not asking you to do anything."

"You asked what I wanted. In the bathroom. After you kissed me like you meant it." Her purple eyes locked onto mine with laser focus. "No one asks me what I want. They tell me what the company needs, what the brand requires, what Mama expects, what the board demands. But you just... asked. Like my opinion mattered. Like I was a person instead of a corporate asset."

"Seemed like the polite thing to do."

"It was the worst thing you could’ve done." She stood with fluid grace, brushed off her costume like she was brushing away weakness and vulnerability and all the messy human emotions that didn’t fit in boardrooms or photo shoots. "Because now I can’t stop thinking about it. What I want. What that even means for someone like me."

I stood too, my joints creaking slightly from sitting on marble floors that weren’t designed for human comfort. We were close now, close enough that I could see the exact shade of burgundy she’d chosen for her lipstick, the tiny imperfection in her left eyeliner that she’d probably fix immediately if she noticed it in a mirror.

"What do you want, Vivienne?"

She swayed slightly, like the question had physical weight, like it could knock her off balance and send her tumbling into uncertainty.

"I want my dad back." Her voice cracked again, seventeen years of controlled emotion spilling out through the cracks. "I want to not be in charge of other people’s livelihoods. I want to make mistakes without shareholders suffering. I want to be normal for five minutes without the world ending. I want..."

"Me?"

The word hung between us like a live wire. Dangerous. Heavy with possibility and catastrophic potential.

"Yes." She stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the expensive perfume she wore and the underlying scent that was purely her. "I want you. And I hate it. Because wanting things is how you lose them."

"Or it’s how you get them."

"Not in my experience. In my experience, wanting things is the fastest way to watch them disappear."

My hand moved before my brain could mount a coherent protest, cupping her face with fingers that were probably too rough, too calloused from bartending and general manual labor. Her skin was warm, softer than anything had a right to be, and she leaned into the touch like she’d been starving for physical contact her entire life.

"Your experience is based on loss," I said, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone, feeling the delicate bone structure underneath perfect skin. "What if this time is different?"

"What if it’s not? What if I let myself want this and you disappear like everyone else does?"

"Then at least you tried. At least you took the chance instead of letting fear make the decision for you."

Vivienne’s eyes fluttered closed, her hand coming up to cover mine against her cheek, fingers interlacing with mine like she was trying to memorize the feeling.

"I’m supposed to be strong. Unbreakable. The ice queen who doesn’t need anything from anyone."

"You are strong. You’re also human." My thumb continued its gentle path across her skin, tracing the line of her cheekbone like I was trying to map her face through touch. "Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts."

She opened her eyes, and the tears were back, clinging to her lashes like diamonds, making her purple irises even more vivid and impossible to look away from.

"I don’t know how to do this. How to want something this badly when I know it’s going to complicate everything I’ve worked for."

"Welcome to my entire existence for the past three weeks."

That got a small smile, tiny and uncertain but real in a way that made my chest tight with something I refused to examine too closely.

"We’re both complete idiots."

"Seems like it."

Vivienne surged forward without warning, kissed me hard and desperate, like she was drowning in deep water and I was the only source of air in a fifty-mile radius. Her hands fisted in my vest, dragging me closer with surprising strength, and I went willingly because apparently I’d lost all sense of self-preservation somewhere between September and now, somewhere between professional boundaries and personal investment.

This kiss was different from the bathroom encounter. That had been heat and urgency and stolen moments between speeches and photo opportunities. This was raw. Honest. The kind of kiss that said I’m falling apart and I need you to catch me before I hit the ground.

I caught her.

Wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her flush against me, let her use my body as an anchor while her carefully constructed world tilted sideways and threatened to dump her into emotional chaos. She made a sound against my mouth, something between a sob and a sigh, and her fingers moved to my hair, tugging hard enough to sting in ways that grounded me in the present moment.

Good.

Pain meant this was real, meant I wasn’t dreaming her up like I had this morning when my subconscious decided that all four sisters on my lap was a reasonable fantasy to explore in vivid detail.

Vivienne pulled back suddenly, gasping for air, her lipstick smeared across my mouth in burgundy evidence of catastrophically poor decision-making.

"We can’t keep doing this," she whispered, but she didn’t step away, didn’t put distance between us.