She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweater without thinking, as if it could shield her from the silent judgment pressing down from all sides.
---
The first room they stopped at was breathtaking.
High ceilings.
Blue velvet curtains sweeping to the floor.
A massive carved headboard centered against the wall, framed by matching antique furniture that gleamed faintly under the heavy chandelier.
Charles turned stiffly to Kai.
“Your room, Sir.”
Lyric paused in the doorway, admiring the richness of it all, the effortless luxury—until Charles turned again.
“This way, Ma’am.”
She glanced at Kai, eyebrows raised in question.
He just smiled and placed a hand lightly against the small of her back to guide her forward.
They walked what felt like an eternity down a narrower corridor—the floorboards growing softer and more uneven underfoot.
The walls here were crowded with aging portraits and dark wood paneling, the air cooler and less cared for.
At the very end of the hall, Charles stopped.
He opened the door without ceremony.
Lyric stepped inside.
It was... pretty.
But not like Kai’s.
The ceilings were lower.
The furniture was smaller and less ornate.
One wall was covered in floral wallpaper that clashed awkwardly with the heavy Victorian trim—as if the room had been modernized halfway through and then forgotten.
The air smelled faintly of old flowers and something sweeter, almost cloying.
Charles set her bags down and left without a word, the door falling closed with a soft click behind him.
Lyric turned to Kai, heart pounding faster than she wanted to admit.
“What is going on? Why do we have different rooms?”
Kai laughed softly, pulling her into his arms like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“Don’t panic,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. “My mother has rules. Under her roof, if you’re not married, you sleep apart.”
Her chest ached as she looked up at him.
“You told me we’d be spending more time together,” she whispered. “Now we can’t even sleep in the same bed?”