Selena didn't sleep. She lay in the dark listening to the mansion settle—pipes shifting, the hum of the AC, the distant sound of what might have been Matthew's shower around 3 AM. She'd replayed the terrace conversation at least a hundred times, analyzing his tone, his proximity, trying to figure out what he wanted from her beyond what the contract demanded. By dawn, she gave up pretending sleep was possible. She went downstairs to the kitchen still in yesterday's dress, hair a mess, and found Margaret making coffee. "Early rise, Mrs. Kingland?" Margaret said, her tone carefully neutral. "I couldn't sleep," Selena replied, not bothering to lie. "Is there coffee?" "Fresh pot. Mr. Kingland asked me to tell you he's expecting you at breakfast in thirty minutes. There's a dress laid out in your room." Of course there was. Matthew was at the dining table when she came down, showered and changed into an understated cream blouse and tailored navy pants that probably cost more th
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