The Art of Hiding

The tears came before she could stop them.

Not ugly sobbing or dramatic breakdown. Just tears, sliding down her cheeks while she stared at Caelan's masked face. His thumb was still pressed against her skin, warm and careful.

That gentleness broke something inside her that she'd been holding together with pure stubbornness.

When was the last time someone touched her like she was precious instead of property?

"I'm..." Her voice cracked. Shit. She tried again. "I'm tired of pretending."

Tired of smiling when she wanted to scream. Tired of letting him touch her like she belonged to him. Tired of performing gratitude for scraps of basic human decency.

"Then don't," Caelan said simply. "Not with me."

Not with me. Like he was offering her something she didn't know she needed. Permission to be real.

Permission to stop acting.

"You don't understand." She wiped at her eyes with her free hand, angry at herself for breaking down. "I can't afford to be tired. Can't afford to feel sorry for myself. There's too much at stake."

"What's at stake?"

Everything. Her revenge. Her stolen inheritance. The people who'd suffer if House Vessant kept getting away with their crimes.

"Everything," she said. "My family's legacy. Justice for what they did. The future I'm trying to build."

"And you're willing to sacrifice yourself for it."

Was she? She'd thought so. Right up until the moment Alaric had positioned himself between her legs, she'd thought she could go through with it. Thought she was strong enough.

But when the moment came...

"I thought I was," she admitted. "Until tonight. When it was actually happening, I..." I wanted to die rather than let him touch me.

"You're human," Caelan said. "Not a weapon. Not a tool. Human."

The words hit harder than they should have. Because somewhere along the way, she'd stopped thinking of herself as human. Started thinking of herself as a chess piece. A blade to be wielded. A performance to be perfected.

When had she stopped mattering to herself?

"I need to be stronger than human," she said. "I need to be whatever it takes."

"No." His voice was firm. "You need to be smart. And sacrificing yourself to a monster isn't smart. It's just martyrdom."

Martyrdom. Right. Dying for principles while the people who betrayed you got away with everything. Noble and pointless and leaving the mess for someone else to clean up.

"Then help me be smart," she said. "Help me find another way."

Something shifted in his expression. The softness was still there, but underneath it was something sharper. More focused.

"Tell me exactly what you need," he said.

Business mode. Right. They could do business. Business was safer than whatever had been happening between them.

"I need him..." She stopped, swallowed hard. "When he gets... attentive. I need emergencies that pull him away."

Shit that he can't delegate. Things that matter more than fucking his wife.

"How much warning can you give me?"

"Depends. Sometimes he plans things in advance, like today. Sometimes it's spontaneous." She thought about his pattern over the past two weeks. Like a predator learning his prey's habits.

"He's worst in the evenings. After dinner, when we're alone."

"I can work with that." Caelan moved back slightly, giving her space to think. "What kind of emergencies would pull him away?"

"Estate matters. Security threats. Anything involving money or reputation." She pulled the sheet higher, suddenly aware of how exposed she was.

"And he takes threats to his position very seriously."

"Good. I can create those." His voice was matter-of-fact, like they were discussing trade routes instead of elaborate deceptions.

"But what about communication? How do I know when you need help?"

That was the tricky part. They couldn't exactly send notes back and forth without raising suspicions.

Too obvious. Too risky.

"The window," she said, glancing toward the balcony. "I could put something in the window when I need help. A candle, maybe, or a specific book."

"Too obvious. Servants might notice changes." He followed her gaze to the balcony.

"But what about flowers? You have gardens. It would be natural for you to have fresh flowers in your room."

Flowers. That could work. "White roses for immediate help. Red roses for planned assistance. No flowers if everything's fine."

"And if I need to reach you?"

Fuck. She hadn't thought of that. "The morning papers. Circle certain letters in the society section. I always read those."

"What if there's an emergency? Something that can't wait for the morning papers?"

Good point. Alaric's moods could shift fast. If he decided he wanted her in the middle of the night, coded newspaper messages wouldn't help.

Shit. She needed something faster. Her hands unconsciously gripped the sheet tighter.

"I'll put a shadow on you," he said, his tone deliberately businesslike. "Someone watching from a distance. My man Jorin will keep watch from the east garden. If you see him, know you're not alone."

The concrete detail made it real. Someone would actually be watching.

"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why're you willing to go this far?"

"I'm protecting my business partner if House Verenor finds out your connection to Phinia." The answer came too quick, too practiced.

Right. Just business. "Because of the Skyglass deal?"

"Exactly. They lost a valuable contract to us. It's reasonable I'd want my partner protected from retaliation."

Caelan was quiet for a moment, thinking. When he spoke, his voice was careful. "D'you know? About Evelyne and Alaric?"

Of course he'd figured it out. Smart men with spy networks tended to know things.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I know."

"My spymaster caught them. Multiple times. Very... detailed observations."

Her pulse quickened. Evidence. Real, documented proof of adultery.

"Hold onto that," she said quickly. "That's evidence."

"Evidence for what?" But something in his tone suggested he already knew.

"Divorce."

The word hung between them, heavy with implications.

"But aristocrats have multiple wives," Caelan said carefully. "You could have agreed to that arrangement."

"I probably would have," she said, her voice hard. "If not for the stolen properties. And..." Other things. Things she couldn't share yet. They just fucking set me up to burn alive. "Other reasons."

Divorce meant freedom. It also meant scandal, political maneuvering, and a fight that could destroy her if she lost.

"You sure?" he asked. "Divorce proceedings against a lord like Alaric... they're brutal. And the courts favor husbands."

"I'm sure." More than sure. "But I need ammunition. Real proof, not just accusations."

"Consider it secured." His voice was grim. "Though you should know... I can't block his advances all the time. There will be moments when you're on your own, when you'll have to think fast and handle things yourself."

Handle things herself. Right. Like tonight, when there'd been no flowers to signal with and no way to call for help.

"I understand."

"But I'll do my best to watch for you," he continued. "To be ready when you need me."

Watch for her. The promise hit harder than it should've. When was the last time someone had watched out for her? Really watched, not just monitored her for their own purposes?

"What about alibis? If Alaric gets suspicious about the timing of these emergencies?"

That was the million-gold question. Alaric was smart. If too many convenient crises started happening every time he wanted private time with his wife, he'd notice.

He'd put it together. And then they'd both be fucked.

"We'll have to vary the timing," she said. "Some real emergencies mixed in with fake ones. And some nights..."

Some nights she might just have to endure it.

"Some nights you won't be able to help."

"I don't like that."

Neither did she. But it was realistic. They couldn't save her from every interaction without raising massive red flags.

"It's better than what I had before," she said. "Which was nothing."

"What if he figures out I'm involved?"

Then they were both dead. Alaric wouldn't hesitate to arrange accidents for people who threatened his interests. Especially people who threatened his marriage.

"He won't," she said with more confidence than she felt. "As long as we're careful."

"And if he does?"

She met his eyes. "Then you deny everything," she said firmly. "Do not start a war with him because of me."

"What about you?"

What about her? If Alaric figured out she was working against him, if he discovered her alliance with Caelan, if he realized just how much she'd been lying...

Dead. She'd be dead.

"I'll figure something out," she said. "I always do."

Liar. If Alaric discovered the truth, she was dead. And this time, there might not be any magic to bring her back.

But she couldn't think about that. Couldn't let fear paralyze her when she was so close to building something real.

"There's something else," she said. "If this works, if we can keep him distracted long enough, I'll need your help with other things. My inheritance. The assets he stole from my family."

"The Skyglass operation is just the beginning," Caelan said.

"Exactly." Finally, someone who understood. "I need to reclaim everything that was taken. Every mine, every trade route, every property. But I can't do it as Seraphina D'Lorien Vessant. I need Phinia Ashara to grow stronger."

"And how much stronger?"

"Strong enough to challenge House Vessant directly. Strong enough to destroy them."

Caelan was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. "That's not just about reclaiming your inheritance. That's about war."

War. Yes. That's exactly what it was. A war fought with contracts and leverage instead of swords and armies, but war nonetheless.

"They started it," she said. "I'm just finishing it."

"And you're sure you want me involved in that?"

Was she? Involving Caelan meant dragging him into something dangerous. Something that could get him killed if they failed.

But it also meant having an ally. A partner. Someone who understood the stakes and was willing to take risks.

Someone who looked at her like she was worth protecting.

"I'm sure," she said. "If you're willing."

"I'm willing."

Just like that. No conditions, no negotiations. Just agreement.

But she caught something flicker in his visible expression. A moment of calculation, like he was weighing exactly what this alliance might cost him.

Why did that terrify her as much as it thrilled her?

"Good," she said. "Then we, "

She stopped, head tilting. Had she heard something? Footsteps in the corridor outside?

Caelan went rigid, his hand moving instinctively toward where his weapon would be. "What is it?"

"Listen."

They both went silent, straining to hear over the sound of their own breathing. For a moment, there was nothing but the distant crackle of flames from wherever the fire was still burning.

Then she heard it again. Footsteps.

Getting closer.

Her hands clenched the sheet so tight her knuckles went white.

Too early. Alaric shouldn't be back yet. The fire had been serious enough to pull him away from... this.

He should still be dealing with it.

Unless he'd put it out faster than expected. Unless he'd delegated and decided his wife was more important than whatever documents might be burning.

"He's coming back," she whispered.

Caelan was already moving, quick and silent toward the balcony. No panic, no wasted motion.

Just efficient retreat.

"The flowers," he said quietly. "White roses if you need immediate help."

"I remember."

He paused at the balcony door, looking back at her. "Seraphina."

"What?"

"This isn't over."

The conversation? The alliance? Something else entirely?

She didn't get a chance to ask 'cause the footsteps were getting louder, closer, and Caelan was slipping through the balcony door like a shadow.

The door didn't quite latch. A thin gap remained.

Fuck. No time.

Seraphina threw herself back onto the bed, arranging the sheets to look like she'd been waiting. Waiting and worried and exactly where a good wife should be when her husband was dealing with an emergency.

Fuck. The pillow beside her was still warm from where Caelan had been sitting. She flipped it over quickly.

Breathe. Look concerned but not panicked.

You've been lying here worrying about him, not plotting against him.

The door opened just as she managed to get her expression under control.

"Darling?" Alaric's voice, tired and slightly hoarse from smoke. "I'm back."

"Thank God." She sat up, letting the sheet slip just enough to be enticing. "I was so worried. Everything all right?"

"Fine. Just some papers that caught fire. Nothing that can't be replaced." He moved toward her with that familiar predatory focus, like she was prey he'd been hunting all evening.

"And I'm sorry our celebration was interrupted."

Celebration. Right. The assault he'd been planning before the fire started.

"It's all right," she said. "These things happen."

"But I promised you a perfect evening." His eyes were dark with intent. "And I always keep my promises."

Oh no. He wasn't tired from dealing with the fire. Wasn't distracted by whatever damage had been done. He was back, and he was picking up exactly where they'd left off.

As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't been seconds away from raping her before the interruption.

"Alaric, it's late," she said carefully. "Maybe we should just, "

"No." He was pulling off his coat, his shirt, already preparing. "I've been thinking about this all evening. About you, waiting for me."

Waiting for him. Like a good little wife. Like property that stayed exactly where it was left.

"The fire..." she tried again.

"Is out. Everything's handled." He moved toward the bed, toward her. "Now, where were we?"

On the balcony, hidden in shadow, Caelan could probably hear every word.

Could probably see Alaric moving toward her with that same possessive hunger.

Could probably see her running out of ways to delay what was about to happen.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. White roses, she thought desperately. White roses for immediate help.

But there were no flowers in the room. No way to signal.

No way to ask for rescue without revealing everything.

Alaric sat on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching for her face just like Caelan's had minutes before.

But this touch made her skin crawl instead of her heart race.

"I've been thinking," he said, his voice low and intimate, "about how lucky I am. How perfect you are."

Perfect. Right. Perfect for his needs. Perfect for his image. Perfect for ownership.

"Alaric," she said, trying one more time to deflect. "I'm tired. Maybe in the morning, "

"Shh." His thumb pressed against her lips, silencing her protest. "No more talking. No more delays."

"I would like some white roses," she said quickly. "Really white ones. For tomorrow."

Alaric's expression softened, pleased by what he saw as romantic sentiment. "For tomorrow? Of course. I'll shower you with as many white roses and flowers as you want tomorrow. As celebration for tonight."

Please let him hear that. Please let him still be there.

On the balcony, Caelan was probably deciding whether to intervene. Whether to risk exposure to save her from this.

She couldn't let him do that. Couldn't let him sacrifice everything they'd just planned for one night.

But as Alaric's hand moved to the sheet covering her, as his intent became unmistakably clear, Seraphina realized that all the strategic thinking in the world didn't make this bearable.

Her heartbeat was so loud she was sure he'd hear it. Her stomach twisted into knots.

She couldn't do this. Not again. Not tonight.

Her breath came short and sharp. Her ears started ringing.

Panic clawed at her throat.

Just as her vision started to tunnel, she heard it.

A soft sound from the balcony.

Like a boot shifting against stone.

Alaric froze.

His head turned toward the balcony door.

Had he heard it too?

Alaric moved toward the balcony.

 ---

Shoutout time!A huge thank you to @Jennifer_Goliah for always showing up in the comments, chapter after chapter. Your support means the world, and your presence makes this story feel alive. You're the kind of reader every author dreams of.