Lucas pushed back his chair and stood, rolling his shoulders to shake off the fog of paperwork. His feet carried him down the long corridor almost without thinking, past portraits and tall windows spilling afternoon light across the parquet floors. The scent changed as he turned into the west wing: cedar, leather, a hint of ink, and old wood. Trevor's territory.
He opened the door to his husband's office and stepped inside. The air was instantly familiar, with dark wood panelling, clean modern lines, and Trevor's scent woven into everything from the bookshelves to the leather chairs. It was exactly as it had been the first time Lucas had walked into it: intimidating, immaculate, and heavy with the weight of decisions. Back then he'd thought he'd drown under the responsibility. Back then Trevor had been just a duke, barely more than a stranger, a lifeline Lucas had gambled on.
Now the office felt like stepping into a heartbeat.
