Page 124 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

He called the new building a solution. In truth, it would be proof he owned her.

She looked at him for a long moment. The words were there—vicious, scalding, ready to flay the smug composure off his face. She wanted to hurl every one of them at him until he choked on them.

But he wasn’t worth her voice. He wasn’t worth the breath it’d take to utter a single syllable.

She walked past him, leaving the eviction notice in his hand.

The light in the ballroom assailed her first—a brutal glitter of chandeliers, each drop of crystal as sharp as splintered glass. The air, thick with cloying perfumes, caught in her throat. Her eyes adjusted slowly, the gaiety of the room already feeling like a mockery.

She saw Ark striding toward her, a plate balanced in each hand. Something in his step lightened when he saw her, as if her presence was a quiet harbour he’d been seeking.

“I don’t know where my mother went—she wasn’t in the library,” he said, then paused, a flicker of something almost sheepish crossing his face. He held out the plates, a small, wry smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I spent far too long deciding what to present to a skilled Kitchen Witch. I hope you won’t turn down my offerings.”

Cassia stared at the plates, and then him. Each dish he selected had an ingredient she’d often reached for when cooking for the bakery, the children, or herself. Each dish was chosen with her in mind. Her chest ached. He had learned her, memorized her, built this small offering as proof that he’d been paying attention since the first honey cake she’d ever handed him.

She blinked back tears and smiled up at him, brushing her fingers against his cheek before she could stop herself. A small, instinctive gesture—but the way he leaned into her touch without hesitation, without suspicion, cinched her chest.

He was a good man. Too good for the pain she was about to force upon him.

“Do you know,” she said, her throat tight, “that I am the luckiest woman in Meredith right now?”

Before he could see it in her eyes—whatever storm had begun to stir—she pulled her hand back.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

Too late—he’d already seen. She couldn’t answer that honestly. She looked past him, at the swirling, glittering denial of the ballroom. “I just . . . don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to spend the rest of our night performing.”

Ark was quiet, his gaze searching hers. Then, wordlessly, he set the plates down and offered his hand. “Then, let us leave.”

The ease of his surrender—his immediate, unquestioning alliance—pierced her more deeply than any suspicion could have.

This was what she had to kill. This effortless ‘us.’

30

CASSIA

He took her to his home.

Not his office, or some impersonal space. His home—where he lived, where he slept. Where, for stolen hours, the world fell away and he simply existed.

It was a townhouse on a quiet lane in the Demon District, only a few blocks from Aegis & Ash. As soon as the door clicked open, he stepped aside, letting her enter first. Cassia knew the moment she crossed the threshold: this place was Ark. Every detail was deliberate—clean lines, curated order, a space without clutter but pulsing with intention.

Warm white oak lined the floor. Hand-painted tiles climbing one wall, their earthen hues fractured by delicate cracks. A black iron pendant light suspended above a pale marble table. A linen throw draped over a low-backed chair. The air carried the scent of steeped pine—subtle, lingering, a habit he’d maintained until it became part of the house.

She passed beneath an archway toward a sideboard where a tall crystal vase held her Flora Notes, all of them, including the ones from the office. Preserved, their petals were still soft, the inked script as fresh as the day she’d written them.

She’d known he kept them, but the sight of those flowers still made her breath catch.

Reaching out, her fingers brushed a velvety magnolia petal. “You keep these as if they’re collectible items,” she said, her tone teasing. “What will you do when you have them all?”

Behind her, his voice came low, amused. “Pray you keep sending them.”

A soft laugh escaped her, even as her chest ached. “They’re just flowers.”

“They aren’t just flowers, Cassia. Each one was a decision. A moment you chose to reach out.”

She turned, and stilled.