Morning arrived rather quickly.

Penelope made her way to the long dining table, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. Martha followed closely behind, keeping a respectful distance at her back.

At the head of the table, Vincent was already seated. He was dressed in a pristine, high-collared dark tunic. He looked as cool, composed and untouchable as always, as if the chaos of the night had been nothing but a dream.

His dark hair was impeccably styled, though a few rebellious strands fell over his eyes, giving his already striking features a devastatingly handsome, almost dangerous edge. But, he remained quiet, staring down at the documents with a heavy, unreadable focus.

Elias was not by his side today.

Penelope could not bring herself to forget about the infiltration last night.

She felt relieved when Vincent had returned to the chamber to assure her that the zealots had been found and handled, but he had not given her any proper details like she had hoped. He hadn’t told her who those people were, what they wanted, or how they bypassed the perimeter.

He was acting as if the breach were a minor inconvenience rather than a threat to his life.

Why does he always hoard every bit of information? She thought, a faint trace of frustration coloring her mind. She was his wife now, so he ought to be more open with her than anyone else.

Did he assume she was too fragile to handle the truth of the matter? Or was he just used to carrying every burden on his shoulders? Penelope believed she could be of some help to him if only he would allow her to.

But what to do?

Managing to push her troubled thoughts aside, she offered a small, soft smile when he finally looked up from his morning briefing documents to see her approaching.

"Good morning," she greeted.

Vincent’s gray eyes followed her movement, and his gaze softened. The shift was so subtle that only someone who had been watching him closely would notice.

He then gave a brief, respectful nod. "Good morning, My Lady. Sleep well?"

Penelope paused as she was about to sit down. She looked at the man whose gaze had nonchalantly returned to his documents.

"As well as I could, My Lord," she replied with a thinner smile this time before taking her seat.

The corner of Vincent’s lips curved subtly at her sharp tone, amused by the tiny flash of resentment in her eyes, but the small gesture vanished soon enough.

Beside them, Martha offered a polite, deeply respectful bow to the Marquis, which he briefly acknowledged without looking up from his documents. At her silent signal, the waiting servants stepped forward with practiced efficiency, preparing to serve a lavish morning meal of toasted bread, soft-boiled eggs, smoked meats, and fresh seasonal fruits.

As the plates were set down, Penelope looked across the vast expanse of the mahogany table. For just the two of them, the table and chairs were absurdly grand. They were enough to accommodate at least ten more people comfortably.

But...why so many?

A sudden poignant thought struck her.

She looked at the stoic man who was still occupied with his work, and she found herself wondering if he had always eaten like this. Had he spent years sitting at the head of this massive empty table by himself?

The thought tightened something unexpectedly in her chest. There was still so much she hardly knew about Vincent. It made her desire for mutual connection, both political and personal, undoubtedly stronger.

"Vincent," she called softly, drawing his attention from the documents. "You’re seated at the dining table. You should have your breakfast before turning your thoughts to work. You know, one faces the day with greater strength after having something in one’s stomach."

Vincent regarded her for a moment, one brow lifting slightly.

"Is that so?"

That concept, at least from a purely biological standpoint, he was aware of. But he had never had anyone actually tell him when to eat or when he should set his work aside. Throughout his life, he had simply done whatever he felt like doing.

Food had always been an afterthought.

He could always break his fast later, or not at all, if the demands of the day required it.

But as he looked into the earnest warmth in her brown eyes, he found himself slowly lowering the document in his hand, placing it flat on the mahogany table.

"Fine," he said as he finally reached for his meal. "Let’s have breakfast then."

Penelope smiled at his quiet surrender, a flash of pure satisfaction warming her chest.

With that, the two of them had a surprisingly peaceful breakfast. In that moment, the vast and usually desolate hall felt lighter than it had in years.

When they were done, they decided to

take a stroll through the estate’s sprawling garden, wishing to catch the crisp morning air. As they stepped out onto the gravel path, Penelope found herself stealing glances at the towering man walking beside her. She was genuinely surprised when he offered to accompany her to the garden rather than retreating to his study.

The estate’s garden was massive, filled with heavy, fragrant blossoms that seemed to have been left to grow as they pleased for years. Yet beneath the touch of the morning sun, the unruly greenery took on an almost dreamlike beauty. It stood in stark contrast to the imposing figure at her side.

Vincent looked entirely out of place among the delicate white roses and lavender bushes, like a dark wolf pacing through a meadow.

"Do you still intend to visit your father’s estate tomorrow?" he asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

Penelope nodded, her gaze dropping to the gravel path. "Yes. It is incredibly important that I am there tomorrow. My mother was subjected to an ungodly amount of shame after she was accused of having an illicit affair. I have always found it strange... and repulsive, how easily the men in our society are forgiven for the very things women are condemned for."

She paused, a bitter smile touching her lips as the old resentment burned in her chest.

"It is not as if my father was innocent. He was secretly involved with Lady Genevieve, and only married her after she became pregnant with his child."

A quiet scoff escaped her.

"And yet, society offered him understanding and congratulations, while my mother... my mother was dragged through the mud. They whispered behind her back, ridiculed her, humiliated her, until in the end they drove her to end her own life. My father openly claimed that he wanted nothing to do with a soiled woman, so he has no right to claim what she purposefully left behind either."

She stopped walking and looked at Vincent. "Are you going to come with me?" 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

He met her gaze immediately, his expression unreadable, but his eyes remained fixed on her with an unsettling focus. "I don’t know. Do you want me to come with you?"

"I know I may be asking for too much from you," she replied softly, her voice dropping as she lowered her gaze to the ground. "You already have so much on your plate, and you have agreed to help me by sending your men to escort me, but..." she hesitated. "I think I would feel safer if you were there."

Vincent turned fully to face her now. Her gaze remained low, fixed on his boots, while her fingers were clasped nervously in front of her, twisting the delicate silk of her gown.

Penelope couldn’t understand why she felt so incredibly nervous now. A tight, familiar anxiety gripped her chest. Perhaps it was because, whenever she had asked for anything in the past, especially from William, he had made her feel like an absolute burden, an inconvenience to be tolerated rather than a person worth listening to. They never failed to make her feel guilty for the littlest things, so much so that, over time, she had learned to rely mostly on no one but herself.

But without the necessary backup, self-reliance had often proved itself to be painfully inadequate.

She knew logically that Vincent wasn’t William. He was a man of his word, so why was she still trembling? In the past, she would have rather chosen death than seek help from the Marquis. Perhaps it was her own stupidity coming to bite her now.

Perhaps it was not fear of Vincent that made her tremble. Perhaps it was the frightening realization that she had begun to depend on him. And dependence had never brought her anything but pain.

What if he starts to see her as a nuisance like William once did? What—

The agonizing thought barely had time to form in her head before the space between them vanished.

Vincent’s hand cupped the back of her head, and she was gently but firmly pulled forward into the solid walls of his chest. Penelope’s eyes widened in sheer shock as his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, locking her against him.

He was... embracing her.

The realized truth hit her like a wave of dizzying warmth, spreading through her chest and stealing her breath away.

"As long as you wish for me to be there," he said softly, his voice low beside her ear, "then I’ll be there."

For a moment, Penelope could do nothing but stare past his shoulder. A sudden, unexpected prickle stung the back of her eyes. Her vision blurred, but she refused to let them drop.

Then, after somehow gathering herself, she gently pulled back just enough to look up into his striking gray eyes.

"I plan to meet someone in the capital today," she spoke up, her voice steadying as her strategic mind reasserted itself. "Would it be safe for me to leave the estate for a while? I was planning on bringing Martha with me."

"I can have that arranged if it is important," he replied, drawing back. "But there’s something I need you to do for me."