“Maeve.”
“He’s your grandfather.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Do you love him?”
Cassian didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Maeve swallowed.
“Then go.”
“I can’t leave you with this.”
“You’re not leaving me.”
His expression shifted.
Maeve realized what she had said.
She continued quickly.
“You’re going somewhere. That’s different.”
“Moonridge—”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“The assessor requires continuous domestic residence.”
“How long can you be gone?”
“Forty-eight hours before automatic suspension.”
Maeve forced a smile.
“Then come back in forty-seven.”
Cassian stared at her.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He stepped closer.
“Maeve.”
She smiled.
Then kissed him.
“Go see your grandfather.”
He left the next morning.
The apartment felt wrong immediately.
Too quiet.
Maeve tried to work.
Failed.
She argued with Pepper.
Lost.
She watered Gerald.
The plant leaned toward her.
“I miss him too.”
Gerald rustled.
Maeve frowned.
“Don’t judge me.”
By evening, Moonridge was restless.
Lights flickered.
Pipes groaned.
At midnight, the building woke Maeve.
“HE IS LATE.”
Maeve sat up.
“What?”
“FORTY-THREE HOURS.”
Her stomach dropped.
She grabbed her phone.
No messages.
She called.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
By hour forty-six, the household registry charm turned red.
Maeve stood in the lobby staring at it.
Mrs. Davenport held her hand.
Moonridge’s avatar flickered.
“What happens at forty-eight?”
The building whispered.
“The claim suspends.”
“And then?”
“Brightstone can challenge.”
Maeve looked at the door.
Hour forty-seven.
Thirty minutes.
No Cassian.
Maeve called again.
Voicemail.
Twenty minutes.
Ten.
Maeve’s heart pounded.
“Come on.”
Five.
The registry charm began cracking.
Moonridge dimmed.
Maeve closed her eyes.
Then the front doors exploded open.
Cassian stumbled inside.
Blood covered one sleeve.
Maeve ran.
“Cassian!”
He caught her.
The registry charm flashed gold.
Moonridge screamed.
Not in fear.
In relief.
Every light in the building turned on.
Mrs. Davenport began crying.
Maeve pulled back.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Not mine.”
Maeve froze.
Cassian looked exhausted.
“Long story.”
“You have exactly three seconds.”
“My grandfather’s security team attempted to detain me.”
“Why?”
“I refused succession.”
Maeve stared.
“You what?”
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
“He named me heir.”
“To Valecourt?”
“Yes.”
“Which means?”
“Estate. Businesses. Council seat.”
Maeve stepped back.
“You refused?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Cassian looked at her.
The lobby disappeared.
At least to Maeve.
There was only him.
“I don’t want it.”
Her throat tightened.
“What do you want?”
Cassian stepped closer.
“You.”
Maeve stopped breathing.
He continued.
“This building.”
Moonridge made a small emotional sound.
“Sebastian.”
The gargoyle chirped from the staircase.
“Gerald.”
Maeve almost laughed.
“My work.”
He looked at her.
“My life.”
Maeve’s eyes burned.
Cassian reached for her.
“I have spent two centuries living according to obligations created before I was born. I am tired.”
Maeve whispered, “Cassian.”
“I don’t want to inherit another life.”
His hand touched her face.
“I want this one.”
Maeve kissed him.
Hard.
Mrs. Davenport sobbed loudly.
Moonridge dimmed the lobby lights.
Maeve broke away.
“Stop making atmosphere.”
“I AM EMOTIONAL.”
Day Twenty-Four was almost peaceful.
That should have warned them.
Brightstone filed a legal challenge.
The claim stated Maeve and Cassian’s relationship was fraudulent because their household had originated from a preservation agreement.
Maribel arrived with the paperwork.
“This is bad.”
Maeve crossed her arms.
“How bad?”
“If the court agrees the relationship exists only to trigger protection, the heritage claim fails.”
Cassian looked at the document.
“It doesn’t.”
Maribel looked up.
“What?”
Cassian looked at Maeve.
She looked back.
“The relationship.”
Maeve’s heart shifted.
“It doesn’t exist only for Moonridge.”
Maribel slowly smiled.
“Good.”
Maeve pointed.
“Don’t make that face.”
“I need evidence.”
Maeve groaned.
“What evidence?”
“Something proving your emotional development became independent from the original arrangement.”
Cassian frowned.
“How does one prove that?”
Maribel shrugged.
“Letters. Gifts. Witnesses. Major personal choices.”
Maeve looked at Cassian.
He had refused a family inheritance.
Maribel followed her gaze.
“Oh.”
Cassian shook his head.
“No.”
Maeve frowned.
“Why?”
“My family situation is private.”
“That could save Moonridge.”
“I know.”
Maeve stared.
Then understood.
If they used the inheritance refusal, Brightstone would drag Cassian’s family into the hearing.
Expose everything.
Maeve looked at Maribel.
“We’ll find something else.”
Cassian turned toward her.
Maeve shrugged.
“Your trauma isn’t community property.”
Something warm entered his expression.
Maribel sighed.
“Romantic. Legally inconvenient.”
The hearing was scheduled for day twenty-eight.
The exact day of certification.
They had four days.
Maeve searched for evidence.
Nothing felt strong enough.
Photographs?
Required.
Meals?
Required.
Festival appearances?
Required.
Their kiss?
Private.
Cassian suggested witnesses.
Mrs. Davenport offered forty-seven pages of observations.
Maribel rejected them after discovering six pages were speculation about bedroom activity.
Maeve nearly moved out.
Then Pepper solved it.
The cat knocked Cassian’s architecture folder from a shelf.
Papers spilled across the floor.
Maeve crouched to gather them.
Then stopped.
There were drawings.
Dozens.
Designs for Moonridge.
Not repairs.
A future.
A rooftop greenhouse for Mr. Lin.
Soundproof rehearsal rooms for the Martins.
A larger laundry room.
An accessible elevator for Mrs. Davenport.
A storefront expansion for Maeve.
And on the seventh floor—
Two merged apartments.
Permanent.
Maeve stared.
Cassian entered.
He froze.
Maeve slowly looked up.
“You designed this.”
His face changed.
“You weren’t supposed to see.”
“When?”
“Several days ago.”
Maeve held the plans.
“Why?”
Cassian was silent.
She stood.
“Cassian.”
His voice was quiet.
“Because I wanted to know what staying would look like.”
Maeve’s throat tightened.
He stepped closer.
“I didn’t plan to show you.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know if you wanted me here after day twenty-eight.”
Maeve stared at him.
“You thought I wanted you to leave?”
“You never said otherwise.”
She laughed once.
Disbelieving.
“You idiot.”