Rayan's Perspective
The following evening, Rayan sat quietly in the drawing room, the soft hum of the clock ticking louder than his own heartbeat. Kael had stationed himself across the room, papers in hand, but Rayan could feel his gaze flicking over every so often. Watchful. Possessive.
A knock sounded. One of the younger maids entered, balancing a tray of tea.
It was her.
The same maid who had smiled that fleeting, unsettling smile when she'd spotted the hidden letter.
Rayan's stomach twisted. He lowered his gaze, hoping Kael wouldn't notice the tension creeping into his posture.
But Kael noticed everything.
The moment the maid bent down to place the cup in front of Rayan, Kael's voice cut across the silence like a blade.
"Leave it."
The girl froze, her hands trembling against the porcelain. She straightened slowly, lowering her head. "Yes, sir."
But as she turned, Rayan saw it—slipped between her fingers, half-hidden by the tray. A folded scrap of paper.
