I smiled softly, with an almost yful curve of my lips, and walked past him. “Thank you,” I murmured.


    The adjoining dressing room wasrge enough to be its own chamber.


    Light filtered through gauzy curtains, glinting off neat rows of wardrobes, shelves, and drawers. I stopped for a moment, taking it in.


    Our things had already been arranged–my dresses and personal effects ced neatly on one side, his clothing and personal stuff on the other.


    The symmetry of it struck me. Two halves, clearly defined, yet sharing one space.


    I moved toward my shelf, fingers brushing over the polished handles before opening it. The familiar scent of vani,vender oil, and pressed fabric rose to meet me.


    My eyes drifted over the array of gowns until they caught on a simple white dress with batwing sleeves. It was elegant,fortable, and nothing too formal.


    Immediately, I pulled it out.


    A few minutester, I slipped it on and crossed to the vanity table.


    The mirror reflected a version of me that still felt half–unfamiliar: cleaner, calmer, with just a trace of tiredness beneath the


    eyes.


    I picked up a powder brush and dabbed it lightly across my face, then reached for a nude lipstick.


    As I worked, a thought crossed my mind–practical, but persistent.


    <i>Would </i><i>my </i><i>maidservants </i><i>still </ie <i>in </i><i>every </i><i>morning</i><i>, </i><i>as </i><i>they </i><i>did before</i><i>? </i>


    It was unlikely. Now that Draven and I shared a room, the servants would think twice before entering unannounced. They were loyal, but not foolish.


    Still, it was strange to imagine starting each day alone again, though, I supposed, not truly alone.


    My gaze drifted to my reflection. My hair was still half–damp, curling faintly at the ends. I sighed, scanning the vanity table until I noticed the small brass handles on the drawers.


    The third one slid open with a soft click. Insidey a hand dryer, carefully ced and wrapped with its cord. Relief warmed me.


    Then, I found a socket by the vanity’s side and plugged it in. The machine hummed to life, its gentle heat filling the quiet room.


    The rhythmic sound almost lulled me until I caught a flicker of movement in the mirror.


    Draven stepped through the doorway, the faint mist of steam still clinging to him. A towel hung low around his waist, water tracing slow paths down his chest.


    For a second, the sound of the dryer faltered as my hand hesitated midair.


    Then, he stopped just inside the room, one brow arched in that effortless, knowing way of his.


    “You look busy,” he said, voice calm, but with that undercurrent of amusement I had grown used to.


    I turned slightly, giving him a look that was meant to be casual, though my pulse betrayed me with its quickened rhythm.


    “Drying my hair. Obviously.”


    17:47


    He nodded once, his eyes still fixed on me. “Do you need help?”


    “No, thank you,” I replied, forcing my tone to remain even as I resumed drying my hair.


    His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he crossed to his side of the room, retrieving a shirt from one of the wardrobes.


    I didn’t look away from the mirror, but I saw his reflection move behind me, steady and


    sure.


    When my hair was dry enough, I switched off the hand dryer and coiled the cord neatly before cing it back in the drawer.


    Next, I reached up to gather my hair, fingersbing through the loose strands. But the curls at the ends refused to stay smooth, slipping from my grasp every time I tried to twist them into a ponytail.


    I sighed softly, trying again, and again. Then, without a word, Draven appeared behind <ol><li>me. </li></ol>


    I met his reflection in the mirror–crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, paired with dark jeans that made him look effortlessly at ease.


    The faint scent of oud and mint drifted to me, clean and sharp, settling like a quiet im in the air around him.


    “Here,” he murmured, reaching out.


    Before I could protest, his fingers brushed lightly against mine, taking the ribbon from my hand.


    His touch was sure and unhurried as he gathered my hair, smoothing it back with surprising precision.


    I couldn’t help smiling, watching him through the mirror. “This is one of the moments you have me silently questioning how you learned to do stuff like this.”


    He met my gaze briefly in the reflection, a faint smirk curving his lips. “You would be surprised what war teaches a man.”


    “Ponytails?” I teased.


    “Order,” he said simply, tying the ribbon with a neat twist.


    His closeness warmed the air. I could feel his breath near my neck, steady and even,


    17:47


    and for a moment, the entire world seemed to narrow to the quiet rhythm of his


    movements<b>. </b>


    Then, without meaning to, a thought slipped out of me. “Will your father be joining us for breakfast?”


    “No,” he said.


    I let out a breath of relief. Then, he finished tying the ribbon and stepped back. “Done.”


    I turned my head slightly, feeling the weight of the ponytail settle neatly down my back.


    “Not bad,” I said, pretending to inspect his handiwork in the mirror.


    “Not bad?” he repeated, a faint edge of mock offence in his tone.


    “Almost perfect,” I corrected with a smile.


    He shook his head, chuckling quietly, then slipped his hands into his pockets. “What do you want to do after breakfast?”


    I nced at him through the mirror again, this time without teasing. “Sleep,” I said simply. “For a week, if possible.”


    His mouth curved in that quiet, approving smile that always made my chest feel lighter. “That sounds reasonable. Now, it’s time to head down for breakfast.”


    +


    Steady. Dangerous, if he chose to be.


    Oscar Elrold was no ordinary wolf.


    “Sit,” Draven said, reminding everyone with a light gesture.


    We all returned to our seats. Then Draven turned to Oscar again, his voice easy. “Have breakfast with us.”


    Oscar smiled faintly. “I would have helped myself if you hadn’t asked.”


    Dennisughed aloud. “That’s the spirit.”


    “Careful,” Jeffery said, smirking, “he will actually empty the table.”


    Oscar nced at him sideways. “Then you had better eat faster.”


    Laughter rippled around the table. Even Draven allowed himself a small chuckle.


    The air lightened briefly, though I could still feel the quiet awareness pulsing between everyone–the shift that came whenever old bonds met new realities.


    Then I felt a gentle touch on the back of my hand. Draven.


    I turned to meet his gaze, and he smiled–a subtle curve of his lips that was meant only for me.


    “Do you want some wine?” he asked softly.


    I smiled back, shaking my head. “No. I’m happy with my tea.”


    Then, I lifted the cup slightly in a quiet toast between us.


    Draven’s smile deepened, his fingers brushing mine for just a heartbeat longer before he withdrew his hand.


    Cede


    <strong>Cede</strong> is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a ir for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cede’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.