The rain had stopped by morning. The roads were mud. The sky was pale.
Rhys hadn't said a word since then.
They rode back in silence, and not the comfortable kind either. The kind filled with what-if's, oh no's, and please don't bring it up unless you're going to do it again.
Seraphina didn't press. She didn't need to. She was already mentally shifting from lips to logistics.
The moment they arrived at Ashgrave, Lucien was waiting on the front steps, holding a stack of freshly bound papers.
"Report," she said, swinging down from the saddle without looking at Rhys.
"The permits are in place," Lucien said. "Funding approved. The first location's renovations are ahead of schedule. We can open by week's end—if you're ready."
"I'm always ready," she said, brushing mud from her gloves.
Lucien followed her up the steps. He didn't mention Rhys trailing behind her, looking like he'd bitten into a memory he couldn't digest.
"Also," Lucien said, quiet now, "you seem... pleased."
She paused. Just briefly. "Do I?"
"Yes."
She smiled over her shoulder. "That's because I've remembered what I'm building."
---
East Wing. Days later.
The House of Velvet Sin didn't open with trumpets or fireworks.
It opened with whispers.
The red velvet curtains were drawn back. The scent of clove and wine curled through the air. Enchanted crystal lanterns floated from the ceiling, casting the space in soft gold.
The floors gleamed. The booths were shadowed and intimate. Every table held custom dice, enchantment-marked cards, or a drink menu written in handwriting too beautiful to be legal.
The staff stood in position.
Rhys at the door. Silent. Brooding. His eyes locked on her back more than the entryway.
Lucien moved through the guests, a phantom with ledgers and charm.
Thorne leaned against the far wall like he'd been hired to scare off gods.
And Seraphina?
Seraphina stood at the top of the stairs. Watching it all.
She had done it.
She had turned disgrace into a kingdom.