Christopher
Morning came too bright.Christopher sat behind his desk at the Ministry, the window wide open though the air was still cold. The noise of the city rose in waves — horses, the low hum of new engines, the calls of vendors. He didn't hear any of it.
He had a report in front of him — a petition on tariffs — but his thoughts kept circling back to the night before.Serena's pale face. The faint tremor in her hands. The way she'd bowed her head when he told her to rest.
It should have satisfied him — that soft obedience, that proof that she still belonged within his reach.Instead, it left a bitterness that wouldn't fade.
He poured himself coffee, then stopped mid-motion, staring at his reflection in the dark surface.The line between control and obsession was beginning to blur, and he knew it.
He told himself again that she was a calculation: a woman whose influence could smooth a case, whose gratitude could serve him later.But the lie didn't hold.
