Chapter 3

Leah got her wish: she moved into George's private chambers that same day.

She started carrying herself like the lady of the manor—dressing to dazzle, orchestrating moments designed to catch his eye, practically vibrating with the expectation of being noticed.

George didn't notice.

That first morning after, he woke clear-headed. Found her beside him. His face registered precisely nothing. No surprise. No guilt. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

He rose, dressed, and went about his morning exactly as if the night before had never happened.

Leah trailed behind him, her voice pitched soft and fragile. "George? Are you… are you alright?"

He didn't turn around. "I'm fine."

"Then… what about us? James says we should begin planning the—"

"That was the council's decision." He paused at the study door. "Not mine."

The door closed. Leah stood alone in the hallway, all the color drained from her face.

The days that followed were a masterclass in quiet cruelty.

George handled family business from dawn to dusk and slept in his study at night. He didn't glance at the elaborate breakfasts she arranged. Didn't register the new dresses she paraded past his line of sight. Her pride, her expectations, her desperate hunger for his attention—his indifference eroded all of it, grain by grain.

She began to crack.

One evening she blew through his study door, voice splintering. "George White! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I was there that night! I was the one who—"

"You came of your own free will, Leah." He set down his pen and looked at her. His eyes were obsidian—beautiful and utterly, devastatingly cold. "Nobody sent for you. I never asked you to come."

The words hit her like a slap. Tears sprang to her eyes. "But we're supposed to be getting married! You can't just—"

"Married?" A thin, humorless smile. "If you're carrying my child, I'll do my duty and marry you. If you're not, this arrangement dissolves. That's the only answer I can give you."

She shattered. Fled the study in tears.

I was standing in the alcove around the corner. I'd heard every word.

They stirred nothing in me.

This was George. Cold. Surgical. The family's interests above everything and everyone. In my past life, the only reason I'd gotten that pathetic excuse for a wedding was because my body had cooperated and produced an heir.

In this life, whatever Leah got was down to luck.

I turned to leave and nearly collided with George. He'd come out of the study soundlessly. He was standing right there. "You heard all of that？"

"Yes."

He searched my face—for what, exactly? Jealousy? Heartbreak? Some petty, satisfying trace of gloating?

He found none of it. My features were stone.

"You really don't care." He sounded almost intrigued.

"Care about what? Who you marry? Where your heart is?" I met his gaze. "George, I told you years ago—I want what's best for you. If that's Leah, then I want you with her. It really is that simple."

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, in a different tone entirely: "That negotiation banquet. It was the Brown family. Vito Brown's youngest son, Marco, was running point."

My heart clenched.

The Browns. In my past life, they were the architects of Leah's death.

"I know," I said.

"Know what?"

"That they won't back off after one failed move." I held his eyes. "George, you need to be ready for what comes next."

My composure clearly wasn't what he'd expected.

He studied me for a long moment, I thought he might see straight through to the truth I was hiding.

Then: "Estate security is yours. I don't want any more 'surprises.'"

I understood.

He was beginning to trust me. Not because of who I was to him, and certainly not because of love. It was because I'd shown him something useful.

In this world, competence is the only currency that spends.

"Understood, Don."