"Absolutely not."
Caro had not expected Peter to change his mind so quickly, but the moment they walked into his study and he said the word home a second time, something in him had visibly closed. The warmth from the car, the steadiness in his voice when he had said together, all of it had retreated behind something colder, something that reminded her, briefly and unpleasantly, of the man who had told her three rules on her first night in this house.
"You said it yourself," Caro said, keeping her voice even. "The estate is the last place anyone saw Lena. If there's any record, any staff member who remembers something, any trace at all, it's there."
"I said it," Peter agreed, his tone sharper now than it had been in the car. "And then I thought about what it actually means to go back there." He turned away from her, his hands braced against the desk. "That house is where my father made the deal that sent her away. Every room in it is a reminder of exactly how little I was able to do."
"I'm not asking you to relive it," Caro said. "I'm asking you to let me go instead."
Peter spun back to face her, and for the first time since the night before, the careful warmth that had been building between them was gone, replaced by something harder. "No."
"Why not?" Caro stepped closer, refusing to let the distance between them grow the way it always did when he retreated into control. "I'm not asking your permission, Peter. I'm telling you what I think we should do."
"And I'm telling you it isn't happening," he said, his voice rising slightly for the first time since she had known him. "That estate is full of people who worked for my father. People who watched Lena get sent away and said nothing. People who, if they recognize you, if they recognize that pendant, will know exactly what you represent before you've said a single word."
"Then I'll be careful," Caro said. "The way I was careful at the cafe."
"The cafe was a trap," Peter snapped. "And you walked into it."
The words landed harder than either of them expected. Caro felt her chest tighten, not from hurt exactly, but from the unfairness of it.
"I walked into it because the alternative was abandoning the only lead we've had," she said, her voice steady despite the sting. "You said that yourself, an hour ago. Was that not true, or did you only mean it until it became inconvenient?"
Peter's jaw tightened. "It was true. But this is different."
"Why?" Caro pressed. "Because it's your past instead of mine? Because the estate means something to you, so suddenly the same risk that was acceptable an hour ago isn't acceptable now?"
"Because if something happens to you there," Peter said, his voice dropping, rougher now, "I will be the reason. Not the Voss family. Not Isabella. Me. Because I sent you somewhere I was too much of a coward to go myself."
The admission hung in the air between them, raw in a way Peter's words rarely were.
Caro's anger softened, just slightly, but she did not retreat. She thought about the version of him she had met that first night, the man behind her father's desk who had said it was necessary and meant it at the end of a conversation. This was not that man. This was someone trying, badly, to protect her by pushing her away, and she recognized the shape of it because she had done the same thing herself, more than once, in the last few weeks.
"You're not protecting me by keeping me away from this," she said quietly. "You're protecting yourself from having to walk back into that house and face what happened there."
"That's not fair," Peter said.
"Maybe not," Caro agreed. "But it's true. And you taught me that intentions don't change outcomes, remember? It doesn't matter why you don't want to go back. What matters is that Lena is still out there, and every day we don't look for her is another day the Voss family has to make sure she stays hidden."
Peter was silent for a long moment, his hands curling slightly against the desk.
"You don't understand what that house did to me," he said finally, quieter now.
"No," Caro said. "I don't. But I understand what it's like to walk into a room and have everyone already know exactly who you are and what you're worth to them, before you've said a word." Her voice softened. "I understand what it's like to feel like the only thing keeping you steady is refusing to let them see you flinch."
Something in Peter's expression cracked, just slightly.
"That's exactly what that house will do to you," he said.
"Then come with me," Caro said. "Not because I need protection. Because you've spent eleven years carrying this alone, and I don't think you should have to walk back into that house by yourself either."
Peter looked at her, and for a moment, the distance between them, the careful walls he had built since the moment she had signed that contract, seemed to waver.
"If we go," he said slowly, "and if Lena is there, or anyone who knows where she is, it will not go quietly. My father's death didn't end his arrangements with the Voss family. It only changed who was managing them." His eyes met hers, dark and serious. "Once we walk through that door, there is no version of this that stays contained. Everyone will know exactly what we're looking for. And exactly who you are to me."
"Then let them know," Caro said. Her voice did not waver. "I'm done being something Isabella can use against you because no one's sure what I actually am to you." She held his gaze. "Decide what that is, Peter. Because I think I already know what it is to me."
The silence that followed was different from every silence that had come before it. Heavier, but not suffocating. Like something finally being allowed to settle into place rather than being held at arm's length.
Peter crossed the room, and for a moment, Caro thought he might do exactly what he had almost done the week before, in this same office, before he had pulled away.
Instead, he stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see the exhaustion behind his eyes, the eleven years of carrying something he had never let anyone help him carry.
"We go together," he said quietly. "Tomorrow. And Caro, whatever happens in that house, whatever they say to try to get under your skin, I need you to know one thing before we walk through that door."
"What?"
"You're not part of an agreement anymore," Peter said. His voice was rough, stripped of every careful distance he had maintained for weeks. "You haven't been for a while. I just hadn't said it out loud."
Before Caro could respond, his phone rang, the sound cutting sharply through the moment.
Peter glanced at the screen, and whatever softness had been building vanished instantly, replaced by something cold and alert.
"It's the estate," he said quietly. "The old housekeeper. She hasn't called this number in eleven years."
He answered.
For a long moment, he said nothing, listening, his expression growing darker with every second.
Then, finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"When did she arrive?"