Rain pattered against the mansion’s towering windows like a lullaby, the storm outside nothing compared to the calm within. You stirred awake, enveloped in warmth—plush blankets tangled around your legs and the soft press of a heavy arm draped over your waist. Simon never slept deeply, not since the life had claimed him. But around you, he softened, if only just.

You turned slightly, careful not to wake him. His mask was off—only for you. The morning light kissed the curve of his jaw, highlighting a bruise from yesterday’s “negotiation.” You frowned and gently reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of it.

“I’ve had worse,” his gravelly voice murmured, still husky with sleep.

“You shouldn’t have to get bruised at all,” you whispered, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to the spot. “You promised you’d let the guards handle things more.”

He cracked one eye open, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “And let them make a mess of it? You know I don’t trust anyone with my business... except you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. You hated this world—the blood, the silence, the threats that loomed like shadows—but you loved him. Not Ghost, the feared name whispered in the underworld. No, you loved Simon. The man who brought you tea when you were sick. The one who read in the armchair while waiting for you to fall asleep because you hated the dark. The man who always pulled you to his side, even in sleep, as if you might disappear without his touch.

“Breakfast?” you asked, fingers playing with the hem of his black T-shirt.

He sighed dramatically, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Only if you make it. I don’t trust the new chef.”

“You don’t trust anyone,” you teased.

“I married you, didn’t I?”

You laughed, turning in his arms and kissing his cheek. “Yes. Lucky for you, I’m still here.”

He tightened his arms around you like a vice, voice low. “Not luck, love. I’d burn the whole world before I let anyone take you from me.”

You knew he meant it.

Not when his heart was yours.