“Obviously.”
“And Brightstone can’t decommission Moonridge.”
“Correct.”
Maeve sat.
Cassian remained standing.
The apartment felt different.
Smaller.
The thought of the archway disappearing suddenly felt unpleasant.
Maeve hated that.
Cassian sat across from her.
“You’re quiet.”
“So are you.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Exactly. You’re stealing my thing.”
He almost smiled.
Then Maeve’s phone rang.
She looked.
Her landlord.
Technically Moonridge’s ownership company.
Maeve answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice spoke.
“Ms. Holloway?”
“Yes.”
“This is Marcus Bell from Brightstone Residential.”
Her blood went cold.
Cassian looked up.
Marcus continued.
“We’d like to discuss a relocation offer.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“We’re prepared to pay six months’ rent and moving expenses.”
“No.”
“Ms. Holloway, the acquisition is proceeding.”
“Not if the heritage protection activates.”
Silence.
Marcus’s tone changed.
“I see.”
Maeve’s stomach tightened.
“You know about that.”
“We know many things.”
Cassian stood.
Maeve put the call on speaker.
Marcus continued.
“Domestic bonding claims are difficult to certify.”
Cassian spoke.
“Especially when buyers attempt interference.”
Marcus paused.
“Who is this?”
“Cassian Vale.”
Silence.
Longer this time.
Maeve looked at Cassian.
Marcus’s voice became careful.
“Of the Valecourt family?”
Cassian’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
Maeve blinked.
Valecourt.
Not just Vale.
Everyone knew Valecourt.
One of the oldest vampire houses in North America.
They owned banks.
Hotels.
Hospitals.
Half of downtown Willowmere.
Maeve slowly turned toward him.
Marcus cleared his throat.
“Mr. Vale. We weren’t aware you were involved.”
“That was intentional.”
“Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”
“No.”
Cassian ended the call.
Maeve stared.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Valecourt?”
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
“Maeve.”
“You’re a Valecourt?”
“My surname is Vale.”
“That’s like saying a dragon named Windsor is unrelated to castles.”
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re rich.”
“I have money.”
“How much?”
“That is not relevant.”
“You steal my groceries.”
Cassian looked offended.
“Sebastian steals your groceries.”
“You have enough money to buy the building.”
“No.”
Maeve narrowed her eyes.
He corrected.
“I could.”
She screamed.
Cassian flinched.
“You could buy Moonridge?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we fake dating?”
“Because Brightstone will not sell.”
“You could make a bigger offer.”
“I tried.”
Maeve stopped.
“You tried?”
“Day two.”
Her anger vanished.
“What?”
Cassian looked away.
“I made an acquisition proposal.”
“For Moonridge?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she rejected it.”
Moonridge spoke softly.
“I did.”
Maeve looked up.
“Why?”
The building’s voice changed.
Less playful.
“Because I do not want another owner.”
Maeve swallowed.
“I want residents.”
Cassian looked at the wall.
Moonridge continued.
“I have belonged to companies for one hundred fourteen years. I would prefer, for once, to belong to people who consider me home.”
Maeve stared at the floor.
Cassian’s voice softened.
“That is why the heritage protection matters.”
Maeve looked at him.
“You tried to save her anyway.”
He shrugged.
“She is irritating.”
Moonridge huffed.
“But she doesn’t deserve to die.”
Maeve’s chest tightened.
Cassian met her eyes.
And suddenly everything about him became more dangerous.
Not the vampire part.
The kindness.
Day Eighteen was the kiss.
It happened because of a bookshelf.
Maeve wanted that fact recorded.
Cassian had installed new shelving in the merged living room.
Maeve stood on a stool handing him books.
He stood below.
“This one?”
“No.”
“This?”
“Left shelf.”
“You organize by height?”
“Genre.”
“Then why is a cookbook beside vampire history?”
Cassian looked at the title.
“Cooking for the Recently Deceased.”
Maeve stared.
“That is not yours?”
“No.”
Moonridge whispered through the wall.
“It’s mine.”
Neither responded.
Maeve reached for another book.
The stool shifted.
She slipped.
Cassian caught her.
Obviously.
By now this had become a pattern.
Maeve landed against him.
His hands wrapped around her waist.
Her arms went around his shoulders.
They froze.
“Hi,” Maeve whispered.
Cassian looked at her.
“Hello.”
Neither moved.
Her face was level with his.
His eyes were red.
Not angry.
Hungry.
Maeve’s breath caught.
Cassian’s grip tightened slightly.
“Maeve.”
“Yes?”
“You should move.”
“Probably.”
She did not.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Maeve’s heart hammered.
Not fake.
Nothing about this felt fake.
“Tell me to move,” she whispered.
Cassian’s expression changed.
“I don’t want you to.”
That was enough.
Maeve kissed him.
For half a second, Cassian didn’t move.
Then he did.
One hand slid into her hair.
The other held her firmly against him.
Maeve forgot the bookshelf.
The apartment.
The contract.
Everything.
Cassian kissed like someone who had spent centuries practicing restraint and had finally decided it was overrated.
Maeve’s fingers curled against his shoulders.
The lights flickered.
Moonridge began ringing every bell in the building.
Maeve broke away.
“Moonridge!”
“CELEBRATION.”
Cassian rested his forehead against hers.
Maeve laughed breathlessly.
“Everyone heard that.”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Davenport shouted through the floor.
“ABOUT TIME!”
Maeve covered her face.
Cassian laughed.
She looked at him.
His hands were still at her waist.
“This complicates things.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
Maeve smiled.
“Good.”
He kissed her again.
Day Twenty started with panic.
Not Maeve’s.
Cassian’s.
She woke and found him standing in the merged living room holding a letter.
His face was completely still.
Maeve had learned enough to know that complete stillness meant trouble.
“What happened?”
He handed her the letter.
She read.
Valecourt Family Council.
Mandatory appearance.
Inheritance review.
Permanent relocation recommendation.
Maeve looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Cassian’s voice was flat.
“My grandfather is dying.”
Her irritation disappeared.
“Oh.”
“He wants to settle succession.”
“And you have to go?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Maeve’s chest tightened.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
The heritage assessment was eight days away.
Maeve looked at the letter.
“If you leave…”
“The household claim may fail.”
Silence.
Cassian folded the letter.
“I can refuse.”
Maeve looked at him.
“No.”
He frowned.