Aiden stood before the full-length mirror in the master chamber of what was now unequivocally his estate. The dark noble coat fitted him like it had been forged for his body alone—midnight black fabric, severe and immaculate, with intricate golden embroidery curling across the shoulders and chest like living flames.
Matching trousers hugged his powerful legs, and the high collar framed his throat with regal authority. His snow-white hair fell in perfect waves to his shoulders, catching the morning light like fresh powder on marble. Those golden eyes—predatory, luminous, ancient—stared back at him with quiet triumph.
He looked less like a newly minted viscount and more like a god-prince descended to walk among mortals.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. Not the polite smile of a courtier. Not the charming grin he used to disarm. This was the smile of a man who had taken everything he wanted and knew the world had no choice but to bend.
