Training?

I adjust the strap of my dress, the silence between us louder than anything he could say.

But I see it. The truth he won’t speak. The tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curl too tightly around the leather folder. The flicker in his eyes when he doesn’t think I’m looking.

He’s lying.

Thisisn’tjust training.

It hasn’t been for a while now.

I’m not expecting some fairytale declaration. I’m not naïve. But this is more than just sex. More than just punishment and control. He touches me like heneedsme. Kisses me like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

And yet he won’t admit any of it.

Not yet.

But that’s fine.

Because I’m not going anywhere.

And if he won’t say it?

I’ll make him feel it.

One way or another.

He doesn’t look at me when he speaks next.

“The conversation’s over, Sienna.”

Cold. Final.

He grabs his jacket from the chair, slipping it on with ease. The fix of his buttons, the adjustment of his collar—it’s all too precise. Too composed. Like if he lets one detail slip, the entire mask might crack.

“I’ve got to report to the Capitol. Clear some mess with permits.” He says it like it’s nothing, but I know better.

Lucian Vale doesn’t deal withpermits. He deals in shadows, in leverage, in threats whispered into the dark. This is a man who controls his empire with brutal efficiency. Whatever this is—it’s not paperwork.

“You’ve been busy withpermitsa lot lately,” I say carefully, studying the sharp line of his jaw.

He finally glances at me.

His expression is unreadable. “It’s under control.”

But it’s not.

I canfeelit.

It’s been off for a while now. The tension in the building. The way security has doubled, tripled. The whispered conversations between Jaxon and Killian. The way Lucian disappears more frequently, only to come back looking a little more tired, a little moredangerous.

He’s keeping something from me.

Something big.

He walks to the door, his hand resting on the knob before he stops and turns halfway back.

“I won’t be at the sponsor luncheon tomorrow.”