Hours later, after returning to the warmth and comfort of the Devereux estate, Penelope found herself reclining comfortably on a velvet couch in the bedchamber, surrounded by the crisp, organized stacks of authentic inheritance records.

The evening had slipped quietly into midnight as she painstakingly sorted the documents Mirelda had risked so much to retrieve.

Lifting her gaze from the papers, she glanced toward Vincent.

He occupied the opposite end of the couch, his broad frame settled into the cushions with unusual ease. Though his posture remained characteristically upright, there was a subtle looseness to his shoulders that betrayed his fatigue. She tilted her head slightly, noticing the barely visible tension in his jaw, the slight heaviness in his eyelids.

He was exhausted, but he was far too stubborn to admit it. He continued to assist her without complaint, and the sight she found oddly endearing.

His large, calloused fingers handled the delicate old records really well, and not a single page had been damaged under his care.

But still–

He had journeyed to the royal palace for his duties, rushed all the way back just so he could fulfill his promise to her, and then endured the lengthy journey back home.

Any reasonable person would have retired to bed hours ago. Her brain still could not figure out how he managed to meet up with her on time if she were to consider the distance logically.

Amused by his stubborn persistence, Penelope lifted one bare leg from where it rested on his lap and lightly nudged his arm with her foot.

"Go to sleep, Vincent," she murmured, her voice soft in the dim candlelight. "We’re nearly finished with the records, and I can manage the rest myself. By dawn I’m sure you’ll be up on your feet heading to heaven knows where, and you won’t be able to get enough sleep till then."

Vincent didn’t even bother looking up as his hand smoothly caught her ankle, stopping her silly poking before it could continue.

"Do I appear sleepy to you?" he asked, his deep baritone slipping into a low, quiet drone as he deliberately guided her leg back down to its previous position across his lap, like it belonged nowhere else.

Penelope opened her mouth to protest, but Vincent ignored her entirely. His thumb traced a comforting, absentminded circle against her skin before he picked up another ledger page.

"If you spend less time attempting to dismiss me," he said, turning a page, "we might finish sooner and retire at a reasonable hour."

Penelope’s cheeks puffed slightly at his stubborn remark. Like they weren’t already awake past reasonable hours, but she did not refute his logic. She could not argue with him right now.

Instead, she settled back against the couch and returned her attention to the records spread before them. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"Now that you have them, what do you intend to do with them?" Vincent asked as his gray eyes flicked toward the stack of genuine ledgers.

He knew her well enough by now to understand that she had not gone through such elaborate efforts merely to reclaim a box of old documents.

"There is a particular series of entries that caught my attention," Penelope replied quietly, her playful mood shifting into something far more focused."The amounts were relatively small compared to the rest of the overall fortune, but they’ve appeared with remarkable consistency over the years."

Penelope turned another page, her slender fingers tracing the faded ink of the older ledgers.

"It seems my mother regularly sent financial support to her younger sister and her family," Penelope said. "It doesn’t look enough to attract attention, but it made sure they never fell into poverty. The payments here stopped altogether after her death. It’s not hard to guess it was my father’s doing."

The conclusion was obvious.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed at her, catching the drift. "And what do you intend to do with this information?"

Penelope carefully closed the ledger in her hands.

"I intend to transfer the entirety of my mother’s personal savings directly to my aunt," she replied. "The Baron stole years of security from them, and it is time they receive their rightful dues. It’s been a very long time since I heard from them. It’ll be a good opportunity to see them again."

"Oh, did something happen?"

"You could say so," Penelope sighed softly, a touch of old bitterness creeping into her voice. "My father forbade them from ever setting foot within the barony. Naturally, he was acting on Lady Genevieve’s wishes."

She put the ledger down. "When the rumors were spread, that my mother had killed herself to escape the shame for her supposed actions, my aunt and her family were the only ones who absolutely refused to believe them. Their refusal to yield upset the estate, especially Lady Genevieve."

Then more softly, "Afterall, it is difficult to rewrite someone’s legacy when there are still people willing to remember the truth. For as long as I can remember, they were the only ones who truly loved and stood by my mother."

"It didn’t matter to them that they were ordinary commoners and she was a noblewoman, they defended her honor when everyone else sought to tear it apart. They remembered her kindness when it would have been far easier to turn away and save themselves. Lady Genevieve was a huge problem on our backs, so much that they had to break contact with me in order to ensure my safety."

Penelope could still remember it.

At first, she believed they had abandoned her, just as everyone else had. In those lonely days, she found herself wondering if Lady Genevieve had been right all along– that she was the problem.

Then, by chance, she overheard a private conversation between them and learned the truth. Lady Genevieve had threatened them, warning that if they did not leave for good, Penelope would be the one made to suffer for their defiance.

Her relentless greed and desperate ambition to claw her way into the ranks of the nobility had only marked the beginning of her downfall, even if no one had known it back then. Perhaps that was why she had been granted a second chance, to not just change her fate alone, but to change the fate of those who had suffered unjustly alongside her.

Her heart hardened with genuine resolve. "I am certain they must have endured countless hardships over the years because of their loyalty. That is why I need to do this. I am more than certain my mother would have wanted it this way. This is the right thing to do, after all."

Vincent studied her downcast expression for a long moment. Then, at length, he reached for another ledger and placed it atop the pile she intended to review.

"Then we should make certain the transfer is done properly," he stated, his tone thoroughly pragmatic yet wholly supportive.

Penelope blinked, slightly caught off guard by his easy acceptance.

"If your mother entrusted her fortune to the people she loved, then it ought to reach them," Vincent continued, his sharp eyes softening just a fraction. "Besides, I have no desire to spend the rest of my life being haunted by my mother-in-law’s disapproving spirit."

A startled laugh escaped Penelope, breaking the melancholy that had settled over her.

"Do you believe in ghosts then, My Lord?"

"Maybe." He leaned back against the edge of the couch, finally closing his eyes as the weight of the long day caught up to him. "I used to see them a lot as a child. Or perhaps, it was simply an overactive imagination of mine."

"Really?"

Penelope leaned closer at once, her interest instantly piqued.

"Were they friendly ghosts?"

"Friendly?..."

Vincent didn’t respond for a long while, the room falling into a deep, heavy silence broken only by the crackle of the candle wick. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, distant murmur.

"I can’t remember."

Penelope’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly at his detached response. A small sigh escaped her as she looked at his closed eyes. And here she had thought, for just a fleeting moment, that she was finally about to learn something meaningful about his enigmatic past.

But, once again, the door had opened only a crack before closing shut.

Vincent having an overactive imagination did not sound entirely implausible to Penelope. If anything, it sounded rather fitting. A man like him must have spent his childhood concocting endless schemes and strategies, which she considered beneficial for his role as an imperial commander.

Too bad. She would have loved to hear about the adventures he crafted.

"Why can’t you remember?" She asked, studying his still profile. "Or are you merely trying to hide it from me? Are you embarrassed? It’s normal for children to have an imaginary friend. But... you must have had quite the imagination if you truly believed you were seeing ghosts."

Penelope watched him closely, fully expecting a counter-response, but his eyes remained closed. His expression did not change, and he offered no response whatsoever.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, the truth suddenly hit her.

Penelope blinked.

"Vince?"

She stared at him, half-expecting him to open one eye, but he remained perfectly still, his breathing slow and even, as though he had surrendered to sleep in the middle of their conversation without the slightest warning.

Penelope could only sit there, thoroughly dumbfounded. Leaning forward, she waved a hand in front of his face. She tried again, but received no reaction.

He’s actually asleep.

"And here I thought we were supposed to go to bed together," Penelope whispered to herself, shaking her head. But she found herself studying him more closely.

Without his usual sharp gaze fixed on the world, the severe lines of his face had softened beautifully. The tension he carried so effortlessly while awake had melted away, leaving behind a rare glimpse of simple exhaustion. Bathed in the gentle, amber glow of the candlelight, he looked younger, and more human too.

A tender smile dawned on her lips.

For all his stubbornness and endless posturing, he had stayed beside her until his body had simply refused to cooperate any longer.

Quietly, careful not to disturb the peaceful silence filling the chamber, Penelope gathered the remaining records and stacked them into neat piles upon the table.

Once finished, she turned back toward the couch.

Hesitating only briefly, she stepped closer and carefully eased herself into the narrow space beside him. The cushions dipped beneath her weight. Gently, she lifted one of his arms and draped it around her waist before settling against his side.

Vincent never stirred.

His arm remained loosely around her, heavy with sleep.

Slowly, Penelope relaxed into him, nestling against his shoulder until the side of her head rested comfortably against his chin. Their bodies fit together surprisingly well despite the cramped space, his warmth surrounding her like a blanket.

A small smile lingered on her lips.

Had he been awake, he undoubtedly would have chased her to the bed where he assumed would be more comfortable for her. But now, he was merely holding her close without even realizing it.

Safe within the circle of his arm, Penelope finally closed her eyes.

The steady rise and fall of his breathing brushed against her hair, and before long, she found herself drifting off as well, lulled to sleep by the quiet warmth of his presence.

To a third eye, they looked like a pair of lovers who had long since grown accustomed to sharing each other’s space.