The evening air was soft with September's warmth — the kind that lulled the city into an almost deceptive calm.
The Cross townhouse stood apart from the street, its windows glowing like lanterns against the dimming sky.
Serena Maxwell paused at the bottom of the marble steps.
She had been here before. Twice now, at Christopher's invitation — for lessons that had been anything but lessons.
Each time she told herself she would come only to observe, to play her role with precision and purpose.
And each time, she left with her balance slightly undone.
Tonight was no different.
The carriage that had brought her rolled away, leaving only the quiet hum of the street and her own heartbeat. She adjusted her gloves, the faint tremor in her fingers betraying her otherwise calm expression.
When the butler opened the door, she smiled — practiced, serene.
"His Excellency is expecting me," she said.
The man bowed and led her inside.
