The gentle, rhythmic scrape of the comb was the only sound in the bedchamber. Penelope sat before her vanity, stared into the polished glass, and watched Martha gather her ash-brown hair, smoothing the thick tresses straight down her back.

She had long since shed the heavy layers of her gown, exchanging them for a simple silk nightdress that draped softly around her frame. Yet, she felt more weighed now than she had all day.

Vincent’s words from this afternoon refused to leave her.

"Spend my name, use my authority, and do not hold back in the slightest... Lay your burdens on me. That is what I am here for."

The words echoed over and over in her thoughts.

She was profoundly grateful for his compliance. Having the full, terrifying backing of the Aelgard military power was exactly what she needed to ensure her father could not slither out of his legal obligations at all. Reclaiming her mother’s inheritance was the catalyst—the very first step of a long, calculated revenge.

In her former life, that inheritance had been the leash her family used to manipulate her, the bait that had ultimately dragged both her and Vincent into a tragic, bloody ruin. But she wouldn’t squander this second chance.

She would make them bleed for every ounce of misery they had caused.

But the way Vincent had yielded to her... it made her chest tighten with an ache she couldn’t entirely articulate.

He had looked so dark, so strangely detached when he spoke. He hadn’t refused her; if anything, he had offered her the entire world on a silver platter. But there had been an undercurrent of cold resignation in his eyes, as if while giving her everything, he was also pulling a shutter closed behind them.

Penelope didn’t like it.

She didn’t like that he looked upset, and perhaps what frustrated her more was the fact that she could not decipher why.

"Martha," Penelope said softly, breaking the silence as she looked at the maid’s reflection in the mirror. "Is His Lordship still working in his study?"

Martha paused, carefully setting the silver-handled comb down on the marble vanity before giving a small shake of her head. "No, My Lady. If I am not mistaken, he stepped out of the manor with Sir Elias approximately an hour ago."

"Oh."

Such a simple response.

Yet, a heavy, hollow disappointment settled right over her heart. She lowered her gaze down to her lap, her fingers absentmindedly tangling in the silk fabric of her nightdress.

He had left the estate.

Even after everything that had happened at the palace, he was still pushing himself with his injuries and refusing to rest.

Why is he so stubborn?

The question lingered bitterly in her mind, but Penelope knew she couldn’t afford to sit and worry forever.

Sighing, she forced her attention to something else. "Martha, is it possible to find someone within the city who is exceptionally skilled at... replicating ledger documents? Like a master forger?"

Martha blinked at that. "A forger, My Lady?"

Penelope nodded.

******

Hours later, the deep stillness of midnight held the estate in a chokehold.

Vincent finally returned to his estate, his boots making almost no sound against the carpeted corridor. His back was stiff, aching fiercely from a night spent reviewing reports and finalizing troop movement with Elias, but the ache in his body felt insignificant compared to the exhaustion weighing his mind.

He fully believed Penelope would have been asleep hours ago. It was a comforting thought; it meant he wouldn’t have to look into those expressive brown eyes and navigate the frustrating, painful tangle of his own useless emotions.

Stepping inside the chamber, he eased the heavy doors shut behind him. When the latch clicked softly, he turned around—and froze.

The room was still bathed in the warm, flickering amber light of the hearth. And there she was. Penelope was very much awake. She had evidently been pacing the length of the floorboards, but she snapped to a halt the exact second the door latched shut.

For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, whilst Vincent felt his entire thought process abruptly detail.

Why is she still awake? He almost, genuinely panicked.

Penelope, however, felt a massive weight lift of her shoulders. The knot of anxiety that had been tightening in her stomach for hours dissolved the moment she saw his tall silhouette. Relief bloomed brightly across her face, and she immediately took a few quick steps toward him.

"You’re back," she breathed.

Vincent’s breathing hitched. She was wearing only her nightdress, her ash-brown hair falling in soft,unstructured waves past her shoulders. Standing there in the firelight, looking so warm and entirely focused on his return, she looked devastatingly, unbearably cute.

The sudden violent urge to pull her against him roared to life. To bury his face in her hair, to hold her until that relieved expression remained directed at him and no one else. The impulse rose so suddenly that it caught him off guard.

Vincent swallowed hard, forcefully dragging his gaze away to suppress the thought. He took a deliberate step backward, creating a safe distance between them as he reached up to unbutton his heavy riding coat.

"Why are you still awake?" he asked, his voice deliberately clipped and unnaturally even as he stubbornly refused to look directly at her, a poor attempt to mask his inner turmoil. "It is past midnight."

Instead of answering, Penelope stepped closer, closing the distance he had just tried to create. She slipped around him, her small hands reaching up to gently take the heavy fabric of his coat from his shoulders, assisting him before he could pull away.

"I... was waiting for you to come home," she murmured softly from behind his back.

The words felt like a physical blow. Vincent froze entirely, his arms hanging half-extended, the linen of his shirt pulling taut against his shoulders.

Waiting for him to come home?

The concept was entirely alien to his mind, considering no one has ever waited for him before. The silence that followed her admission was deafening, broken only by the crackle of the dying embers in the hearth.

Did she perhaps need something?

That was the only logical conclusion his mind could form. If a tool was kept out on the table past midnight, it was because there was still work to be done.

She must have remembered another detail she’d like to share? Or perhaps she needed him to sign a directive for the guards before morning.

"Is there something you need?" He finally asked, turning around to look at her.

Penelope simply shook her head, her thick, ash-brown waves shifting over her shoulders. "No."

"Then why wait up?"

The question left his lips before he could stop it, sharp and laced with a genuine, frustrating bewilderment. He truly could not understand the logic behind her actions. "I tend to return late most nights. Next time, you should just go to sleep. You’re only depriving yourself of rest, and that is not good for your health."

Before Penelope could even begin to formulate a response to his infuriatingly clinical lecture, he was moving again. He bypassed her completely, heading straight toward his wardrobe with the mechanical efficiency of a man carrying out his military procedure.

She watched as his large hand reached for two linen towels, and she could not stop the frustrated pout that formed on her lips.

Why is he acting so strange?

Just yesterday, he had been looking at her with a heat that was intense enough to leave her breathless, and earlier today, he had held her hand to his forehead with a vulnerability that practically fractured her heart.

But now, he was treating her like an inconveniently awake houseguest.

"Get some sleep," Vincent said quietly, his gray eyes flicking over her frame one last time before he stepped into the adjoining bathing chamber and closed the door softly behind him.

Penelope crossed her arms over her chest with a deeply offended expression.

A sharp, irritated breath escaped her nose.

He was running away.

The great, terrifying Marquis of the empire, was hiding away because he didn’t know how to handle his wife, or perhaps this version of his wife. He can’t even comprehend a gesture made simply out of affection. Well, if he thought he could shut her out, he was sorely mistaken.

She hadn’t traveled back in time and rewritten her entire fate just to let him retreat back into his lonely shell.

So, she did something stupidly reckless. She abandoned every sensible thought she possessed and followed him into the bathing chamber.