?Chapter 899:


    The wine had her rxed and teasing, her guard softened in a way he rarely saw.


    “We’re done here. Let’s go,” Ethan said, calm and firm, his voiceced with that quietmand that didn’t invite argument.


    Ethan’s tone reminded Lydia of someone else. Whatever ease she’d found on the dance floor quickly disappeared.


    “Fine. Let’s go.”


    They exited into the quiet of the evening. The rain had already stopped. Ethan offered to drive her, but Lydia shook her head without pause. “No thanks. The weather’s clear now, I’ll make my way back.”


    Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked off, her heels tapping out a rhythm down the empty sidewalk.


    By midmorning, sunlight spilled into the bedroom in long golden streaks.


    Elena blinked awake in a bed that wasn’t hers, with Wesley’s arm resting heavily across her waist. His breathing remained deep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.


    A small movement was all it took—pain red up and stopped Elena cold. Tension gripped her body, the lingering soreness intensifying with every minor shift. One subtle movement was enough to rouse Wesley. His eyes opened andnded on her without hesitation. Catching the slight wince on her face, he lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with gentle concern. “What’s the matter?” Sleep still clung to his voice, low and husky.


    Elena batted his hand away and sat up, her jaw clenched to hide the sting coursing through her limbs. There was no way she’d admit aloud how the recklessness of the night before had left her body aching in ces she hadn’t expected. Since she’d been the one to initiate things, she figured she didn’t have much room toin now.


    Still, Wesley didn’t miss the stiffness in how she moved. His lips curved with amusement. “Feeling it today, aren’t you?”


    She refused to indulge that with a reply. Tugging the robe tighter around her frame, she changed the topic, asking, “Where are my clothes?”


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    “They were wrecked,” Wesley said, unfazed. “I had someone send something new.”


    Elena gave a curt nod. There was no way she was putting yesterday’s filth back on her body.


    Without another word, she stepped into the bathroom. Her gazended on her reflection—worn out, but still standing. Every bruise and scrape from the Shadow’s base—grit-marked palms, raw knees, a wrist that had taken the brunt of it—had been washed and neatly bandaged.


    Her eyes lingered on the gauze at her wrist. The sight nudged something loose inside her. A quiet shift. Like a seam in her carefully stitched defenses had started to give.


    By the time Elena emerged from the bathroom, Wesley was fully dressed.


    A new outfit waited for her too—a sleek white knit dress. She slid it on, noting how effortlessly it fit. Clean lines, soft texture, just the sort of thing she would have picked herself.


    Downstairs, the scent of breakfast greeted her. Wesley stood off to the side, speaking into his phone while a full spread waited on the table.


    Elena kept her hands in herp, making no move toward the food. She watched him silently until he ended the call.


    Noticing her hesitation, Wesley lifted a brow. “Something wrong with the breakfast?”


    “This isn’t about food. We need to talk.”


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