Chapter 37: All That Was Yours
Misty Kilmer’s morning began with silence.
The kind she enjoyed—silk-soft, polished, humming faintly with wealth. She stretched beneath imported sheets, already calculating the day’s meetings in the back of her mind, already composing which earrings to pair with which lies.
The estate was quiet.
Breakfast would arrive soon. Tea first. Soft-boiled eggs on porcelain. Her secretary would call in the half-hour window before meetings began. A discussion with the Luceran envoy. A luncheon with a bored ambassador’s wife who wanted a favor she hadn’t earned. And, of course, whispers about Lucas.
The coming-of-age party hadn’t gone exactly as planned.
But that was to be expected.
Lucas was prone to dramatics—especially when his so-called liberty was questioned. It was his favorite word lately, liberty, as though it wasn’t just another illusion draped in silk. He hadn’t understood that choices were for people who knew how to use them. That love, attention, and titles—all had their own economy.
Still. He’d come around. He always did.
She had ways.
She always had ways.
Especially now, with so many trying to curry favor with D’Argente through her—minor nobles, industrial families, people whose hands never touched real power but clung to its coat hem like children.
Let Serathine think she has won the boy for now. The duchess was indulgent, and eventually, even she would tire of Lucas’s posture. When she did, there would be room again.