Savina’s guest quarters wrapped around her like a cage draped in silk and shadow. She had showered, then slipped into soft sandals and loose clothes that clung just enough to her skin, but the heavy stillness cwed at her nerves. Every slow pace across the room only sharpened her irritation—her mother sharing dinner with him while she remained here, left to simmer alone in the silence.
From down the corridor drifted the low hum of voices. Not ughter. Measured. Deliberate. She hesitated only a breath, then moved into the hall, following the sound until she stood before the heavy oak door. Her knuckles struck the wood.
The voices cut off at once.
Then came the Mistress’s voice, low and even. “Enter.”
Savina pushed the door open.
Shaded mps bathed the chamber in warm light, rich but never soft. The Mistress sat in her high-backed chair, perfectly composed, every line of her body radiating quiet command. Celeste stood beside her, posture effortless and regal, her hands folded with the grace of someone who owned the space she inhabited. Marisol leaned against the table’s edge, restless energy coiled tight beneath her elegant curves. Noa stood just apart, arms folded, her gaze sweeping over everything with sharp, unyielding focus.
Savina lingered in the doorway, letting the scene settle over her.
“So this is where you hide,” she said, voice edged with challenge.
The Mistress’s lips curved in a faint smile.
“Not hiding. Talking.”
Celeste gestured gracefully toward a chair, her movement fluid and inviting.
“Come in, Savina. You’re welcome here.”
Savina crossed the threshold slowly but refused to sit. She leaned against the arm of the chaise, chin lifted in defiance. “I suppose you’re deciding what happens next. Who gets to whisper in his ear tonight?”
Marisol tilted her head, eyes steady. “You make it sound smaller than it is.”
Savina arched a brow. “Isn’t it? The game you py—angling for his attention, waiting for your turn. Scraps dressed up as power.”
The Mistress’s smirk sharpened, her gaze gleaming with something deeper than amusement.
“Careful. You mistake patience for waiting.”
Celeste spoke quietly, her tone carrying the weight of absolute certainty. “We don’t wait, Savina. We build.”
Savina gave a short ugh, sharp and bitter.
“Build what? His empire? The same one that swallows anyone who refuses to bend?”
Noa stepped forward a single, deliberate pace.
“We built ourselves first. The rest followed.”
Savina’s eyes flicked to Celeste. “And you? The wife. Doesn’t that make you the most trapped of all?”
The chamber went utterly still.
Celeste met her gaze without hesitation, her voice smooth and unyielding.
“It makes me the cornerstone. A wife isn’t trapped—she is chosen. And when he chose me, I chose everything that came with him.” She nodded toward the others with quiet possession. “That includes them.”
Savina scoffed, the sound softer this time, uncertainty threading through it.
“So what are you? Lovers? Spies? Servants?”
The Mistress leaned forward slightly, the air between them thickening. “We are owners.”
The word dropped like polished stone.
Marisol pushed off the table and closed the distance by one confident step, her presence electric. “This house runs because we allow it to run. The company stands because we keep it standing.”
Savina’s jaw tightened. “And without him?”
Celeste answered at once. “We would endure.”
Noa’s voice cut in, sharp enough to draw blood.
“You think strength means standing alone. It doesn’t. Strength is being wanted by a man who doesn’t need you—and still writing the terms.”
Savina’s smirk faltered.
Her gaze moved from one woman to the next. No jealousy burned there. No competition simmered beneath the surface. No fear clouded their eyes. Only a deep, seamless agreement.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, charged with the kind of power that settled warm against the skin.
For the first time since she had arrived at the estate, Savina wasn’t certain she was the strongest presence in the room.
