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Graves relaxes slightly, leaning back in his chair. “They’re adjusting. Damon is settling into the position of King better than I expected. He doesn’t struggle with taking charge, but he’s young and inexperienced. He’s feeling his way through it. His biggest success so far has been with Arianette and Hunter.”

I pause, taking a long drink of water. “What do you mean?”

“They’re working through Hunter’s issues,” Graves says. “I know they went to Noir Sanctum the other night.”

A sharp, ugly flicker of jealousy twists low in my stomach. I push it down hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral.

“Good,” I say, even though the word tastes bitter. “I’m glad he’s stepping up, and they’re resolving some of the conflict.”

Graves studies me, eyes sharp. He’s always been able to see through my bullshit.

“They seem… closer,” he adds carefully. “More cohesive. Arianette has been awarded a primary role in the spring recital, and that’s keeping her occupied.” He pauses for a moment. “They’re doing The Rite of Spring.”

My eyebrow raises. “Madame Duval has been waiting years for an opportunity to showcase Stravinsky. Arianette is a good choice for the lead.”

Graves nods. “Hunter’s been pouring himself into some secret project in the old storage building behind the chapel with the help of some of the other Shadows. I think it’s been a good, albeit unintentional, team-building exercise.”

I stare at the unopened envelopes without really seeing them. The image of the three of them moving forward without me sits heavy behind my ribs. Part of me is proud. Another, much darker part, feels hollow. Once again, I’m missing out on the lives that are important to me–all those years with Remy stolen by my own distraction and stubbornness.

Graves stands eventually, smoothing his suit jacket. “I’ll keep things running at the hotel as long as you need. But Timothy, you can’t hide here forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to decide what kind of man you want to be moving forward—the King who accepted defeat or the one who came back and conquered his enemies.”

He heads for the door, pausing at the threshold.

“Let me know about the statement.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet house with nothing but the weight of my own decisions.

Later that night, the house is quiet except for the low tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I settle into my favorite leather lounge chair by the window, a steaming cup of chamomile tea on the side table. The doctors recommended it for sleep. I drink it more out of habit now than any real hope it will work.

My body still aches in places I wish it wouldn’t, but tonight I feel stronger than I have in weeks. Strong enough, at least, to stop avoiding certain things.

I open my laptop and ignore the overflowing inbox for the Maddox Hotel, along with critical warnings flooding in on our company servers. Instead, I navigate directly to the private security portal for Noir Sanctum. My fingers move quickly as I narrow the timeframe and search for the footage from the night Graves mentioned.

It doesn’t take long. Although anonymity is key at the club, safety precautions ensure that I know who exactly is in the building at all times. Once I find the right timeframe, I click the play button and the screen flickers to life.

I watch as the three of them walk into the club, focused on only one thing:

Arianette.

My wife is dressed like pure temptation. A short plaid skirt that barely covers the tops of her black fishnets, heavy boots, and a tight cardigan that does nothing to hide her curves. She’d walk around the House of Night in those little scraps of fabric, unaware of how much her mere presence affected me. But it’s her face that I watch–looking for any hint to how she’s feeling–coping–under the lace mask.

It’s hard to see, but there’s a lift of determination in her chin. I’ve seen it before when she’s challenging herself. A coil unspools in the pit of my stomach.

I sent her away because I couldn’t handle my emotions, and seeing her now, through a goddamn screen, is enough to make me want to fold.

She needs them, I tell myself. Strong, capable men. Not a relic of the past. Not a broken man who’s nothing without his crown.

Hunter stays close on one side, tense but present. This is his domain, but it’s obvious he’s not the one in charge tonight. No, the new King and the Baroness are leading this one.

My chest tightens as I watch DK head toward the bar while Hunter and Arianette find a booth. She looks comfortable. Sexy. Calm in my den of sin. Every eye in the room shifts toward her when she sits down.

Especially one man at the bar.

I lean closer to the screen, jaw clenching. He leans in toward Damon, saying something. I can’t hear it, but I see the way Damon’s posture changes, shifting into something lethal. He leans in close and speaks slowly. The other man’s fingers tremble. Even through the security camera, I can see the fear flash in his eyes before he scurries away like a kicked dog.

Good.

I let the footage play. Damon returns to the booth, pulls Arianette onto his lap, and claims her mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. His hand disappears beneath the table, bunching up her tiny skirt. Hunter watches from across the table, eyes dark, chest rising and falling faster.