The streets were still quiet when Griffin climbed the narrow trail behind the old general store. From the hilltop, the whole town stretched below him—crooked roofs, patched shingles, and the long line of the mine road catching the early light. He could even see the station, still empty at this hour.

He lit a cigarette and let the smoke drift out of his lungs while he reviewed why he’d been sent here in the first place. The Vanderbilts didn’t visit Silver City unless they wanted answers. The Duke certainly didn’t. He usually sent letters, lawyers, and inspectors who thought dirt was a personal insult.

So when they announced the Duke’s son was coming to “observe” mine operations, Griffin assumed something was off—miscounted ore, a dispute in the books, or pressure from investors demanding the heir gain “real experience.” Whatever the reason, the Duke wanted someone grounded—someone impossible to fool—to meet the boy.

And that meant Griffin.

Not because he was loyal, but because he was honest. Honest enough to tell the Vanderbilts exactly what was happening, even if they didn’t want to hear it.

Still, he spent the day imagining the kind of heir he’d have to deal with. Tall. Perfectly groomed. Arrogant in that casual way only the rich managed. Handsome in a sharp, smug, polished way—like someone who’d never walked on uneven ground or spoken to a miner in his life.

Exactly the kind of spoiled brat Griffin expected to babysit.

By late afternoon, he leaned against the station lamppost, hat tipped low, boots crossed at the ankles. The train whistle broke the heat-hushed quiet, and the locomotive pulled in with a hiss of steam.

Passengers stepped down one by one.

A merchant, a woman carrying chickens, a tired family.

And then him.

Emery Vanderbilt

Emery wasn’t just different from what he’d expected. He was beautiful.

Not polished-beautiful or smug-beautiful. But soft, delicate, almost breathtaking in an innocent way.

His hair fell in gentle, angelic waves that framed a face too pretty for the dust-scarred station platform. His eyes were wide—truly wide—big and shy and shimmering with a kind of timid wonder, like he was seeing the world for the first time and didn’t yet trust his own footing.

He held his briefcase close to his chest, shoulders drawn in, posture careful and almost protectively small. He looked around with the fragile caution of someone who’d never been shoved, shouted at, or hurried in his life.

Innocently gorgeous in a way that made Griffin’s assumptions crumble into dust.

He looked like a tremor might knock him over.

Griffin pushed himself off the lamppost, the dirt shifting beneath his boots as he approached. Emery’s eyes flicked up at him—uncertain, nervous, almost startled—and something tight pulled in Griffin’s chest.

They stopped a few feet apart.

Griffin slowly stretched out his hand to him.