Chapter 22: The Unspoken Agreement

They didn’t speak of the message.

Arwen woke the next morning to find Caelum’s phone face-down on the nightstand, the screen was dark and silent. He was already awake, propped against the headboard watching her with an unreadable expression.

“Morning,” she said carefully.

“Morning.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Slept well?”

“Eventually.”

“That's good.” He kissed her forehead, gentle and deliberate. “We should get up. My mother wants us at breakfast in an hour.”

No questions about messages. Just his hand warm against her skin and his mouth soft on hers.

They fell into a pattern over the next few days that felt natural and fragile.

At breakfast, Caelum would pull out her chair and his hand would linger on her shoulder longer than necessary. During business meetings, his eyes would find hers across the conference table and hold for just a second too long. At charity events, he’d keep his palm pressed to the small of her back, a possessive gesture that made her heart skip every time.

They didn’t talk about the future. They barely reallytalked at all.

Instead they communicated more through touch—his fingers threading through hers under the table at dinner, her hand on his chest when they made love in his bedroom.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said one evening as they dressed for another gala. His hands were on her zipper, trying to slide it up her back.

“Just tired.”

“Liar.” But he said it fondly, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “You’re thinking too much again.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Just try.” He turned her to face him, his hands settling on her waist. “When you’re with me like this, I want you to be present. Not lost in whatever scenarios you’re building in that head of yours.”

“I’m here.”

“Are you?” He searched her face. “Because sometimes when I touch you, you still look surprised, like you can’t believe this is real.”

“Maybe I really can’t.”

“Why not?”

Because it’s built on lies and eventually this might fall apart and I lose you.

“Because I’m not used to being chosen,” she said instead.

His expression softened. He pulled her closer, until their foreheads touched. “I suggest you get used to it.”

At the gala that night, Viktor Ashbourne appeared at the bar while Caelum was across the room speaking with investors.

“Mrs. Ravencroft,” Viktor said with a smile. “You look radiant tonight. Marriage clearly looks good on you.”

“Mr. Ashbourne.” She tried to keep her voice neutral. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I couldn’t resist the chance to see the happy couple.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “Though I have to say, you seem a little different from the last time we met. More comfident in your own skin.”

“People change.”

“Do they change this much in just a few weeks?” His eyes were calculating. “Or do they just become better at hiding who they really are?”

Before Arwen could respond, Caelum’s hand settled possessively on her lower back.

“Ashbourne.” His voice was cold. “Enjoying the party?”

“Very much. I was just telling your lovely wife how well marriage suits her.” Viktor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a lucky man, Ravencroft. Though I wonder if you know just how lucky.”

“I know exactly what I have.” Caelum’s hand tightened on Arwen’s waist. “If you’ll excuse us.”

He guided her away before Viktor could respond, his touch firm and protective.

“What did he say to you?” Caelum asked once they were out of earshot.

“Nothing important. Just making small talk.”

“Viktor doesn’t make small talk. He makes calculated moves designed to get something from people.” He stopped in a quiet corner, turning to face her fully. “If he approaches you again, walk away. Don’t engage with him.”

“I can handle Viktor Ashbourne.”

“I know you can. But I’d prefer you didn’t have to.” His thumb traced circles on her hip, a gesture that had become familiar over the past few days. “Stay close to me tonight.”

“Okay.”

He kissed her then, right there in the middle of the gala with hundreds of people watching, and Arwen felt herself melt despite knowing they were on display.

When they finally broke apart, she saw Marcelline watching them from across the room with an expression that might have been approval.

Later that night in his bed, Caelum made love to her again with an intensity that felt almost desperate, like he was trying to imprint himself on her skin. She just pulled him closer, giving back everything he was giving her, hoping that what she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud was somehow landing anyway.

“What are you thinking?” he asked afterward, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on her spine.

“That this feels too good to be real.”

“It’s real, honey.” He pulled her closer. “Stop waiting for it to disappear.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” He kissed her temple. “I really need you here with me, Arwen.”

She kissed him instead of answering, and they lost themselves in each other again until the questions faded into sensation and need.

The summons came three days later.

A staff member appeared at breakfast with a message that Marcelline wanted to see them both in her private study immediately.

Caelum’s hand found Arwen’s under the table, squeezing once before letting go.

“We should go.”

Marcelline’s study was intimidating in its art and elegance. She sat behind a massive desk looking every inch the matriarch of an empire.

“Sit,” she said without preamble.

They sat.

Marcelline studied them for a long moment, her eyes moving from Caelum to Arwen and back again.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” she observed.

“We’re married,” Caelum said evenly. “That’s generally what married couples do.”

“Yes, but this is different. More… genuine than I expected.” She leaned forward. “Which makes what I’m about to tell you even more concerning.”

Arwen’s stomach dropped. “What is it?”

“Viktor Ashbourne has been making inquiries. He has been digging into our families’ history, looking for weaknesses.” Marcelline’s eyes fixed on Arwen. “He’s found a discrepancy.”

“What kind of discrepancy?” Caelum’s voice was neutral.

“A charity document from last month. A gala you were supposed to have attended while you were supposedly in Switzerland preparing for the wedding.” Marcelline pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk. “Except someone signed your name on the donation paperwork. Someone who was very much not in Switzerland.”

Arwen felt blood drain from her face.

“Let me see that,” Caelum said, reaching for the folder.

“The signature matches perfectly,” Marcelline continued, her eyes never leaving Arwen’s face. “But the timeline is impossible. Unless, of course, you were never actually in Switzerland at all.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​