CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

I wake to the sound of movement in the sitting room, but Knox's side of the bed is already cold. The sheets still carry his scent—cedar and storm rain mixed with the lingering musk of last night's passion—but his absence feels deliberate. Pointed.

Shame and panic war in my chest as memories of the previous evening flood back. Not just the way I used our intimate moment to distract him from his questions about finding me at the lake—but how desperately I responded to his touch. How right it felt to be claimed by the son of my family's murderer. The guilt is layered now, cutting me from multiple angles.

I betrayed my mission by almost getting caught. Then I betrayed my family's memory by craving Knox's touch.

I slip into a silk robe and pad barefoot into the sitting area. Knox stands with his back to me, already dressed in formal attire—dark navy jacket with gold threading, leather boots polished to mirror brightness. He's arranging a breakfast spread on the low table with meticulous pr