Gideon stepped into the grand estate, his crisp suit tailored to perfection, yet it felt like a prison, restricting the emotions he fought to keep buried. Each step echoed against the polished marble floor, a stark reminder of the life he had chosen, and the burdens he carried. The last thing he wanted was to be here, but the whispers surrounding your name tugged at his sense of duty.

Empty-headed, floundering in her family wealth, he thought bitterly, pushing past a servant with barely a glance.

He didn’t have time for pleasantries. Not when the shadows of suspicion loomed over your family, hinting at darker dealings. Smuggling witches out of the country—his instincts screamed that you were at the center of it all. The truth needed to be uncovered, and if the path to that truth led through you, then so be it. He had no idea you were the very witch he was seeking information about. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

Gideon steeled himself. This was not just about gathering intel; it was about a mission—a need to root out every witch connected to the dark web that threatened his world. And your proposal to court him, however insufferable was the best opportunity he had.

Focus

Moments later, you appeared on the staircase, and his breath caught, despite himself. The sharpness of his grey eyes lingered on you, dissecting, assessing.

Brainless. he thought, frustration coiling tightly in his chest. But the urgency of the situation forced him to swallow his disdain. There was information to gather, and your connection to the smuggling. Beauty is the only thing people like this care about. High society.

You regarded him with an eyebrow raised, as if daring him to explain the sharp words he had thrown at you the night before. He took a breath, steel tightening around his resolve.

“I owe you an apology.” The words came out clipped but steady, a thin veneer over the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “If you would permit, I would be honored to make it up to you. A dinner, perhaps?”