Eden’s POVThe city had a way of feeling like a cage, even when the doors were wide open. After the intensity of the mansion and the silent, heavy gravity of the Schmidt men, I needed a pocket of the world that didn't smell like expensive cigars or ancient, possessive bloodlines. I needed Claire.Claire’s restaurant was a small, bustling sanctuary in the heart of the city—the kind of place where you could smell garlic, fresh herbs, and honest work. It was the only place where I felt like Eden, not the "Asset" or the centrepiece of a Pact, but just a woman sitting at a scarred wooden table.I was nursing a glass of water, watching Claire move behind the counter with the effortless grace of someone who owned her space. She caught my eye and winked, a silent promise that she’d be over the moment the lunch rush dipped. I tried to relax, but a prickle of unease crawled up my spine. It was a sensation I had grown accustomed to lately, the feeling of being watched, not by the protective, hun
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