Penelope turned to look at him.
Vincent had settled against the heavy dresser table, his arms folded loosely across his chest. The fabric of his shirt remained only half-buttoned, stretching across the broad line of his shoulders while the opening at his collar revealed glimpses of the white bandages wrapped around his torso beneath.
For a second—just a brief, traitorous, second—Penelope found her eyes lingering on the exposed skin. Her gaze slipped over the skin near his throat before trailing lower, curiosity suddenly rearing its shaless head.
She felt a sudden inappropriate urge to see the rest of him, entirely without the linen in the way.
"Penny?" Vincent arched a dark brow slowly, his sharp eyes catching the exact mont her gaze drifted.
Penelope blinked rapidly when his voice snapped her out of the trance. She realized he was still waiting for her to respond, heat rushing violently to her cheeks.
"Right!" She blurted, straightening her posture so abruptly she startled herself. She looked him squarely in the eyes now, so she wouldn’t be compromised by the tempting sight of him again.
"Okay, so you probably know this already," she began, forcing her voice into sothing calm, "but according to traditional marriage customs, the Gifting ceremony still needs to be completed."
She clasped her hands together in front of her.
"That ans I am required to return to my family’s estate in two days. I am expected to present farewell gifts to my family, and in return, I receive my parting rembrance– the portion of inheritance traditionally granted to a daughter leaving her household. It is necessary for to retrieve it before anything else."
Vincent’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
He was well aware of that particular noble custom, but after witnessing the way her family treated her, he had never imagined Penelope would willingly consider returning to that nest.
"Okay," he said slowly, his voice laced with careful skepticism. "So you want to go and complete the marriage rites?"
Penelope nodded firmly.
"Alright," Vincent conceded, though he clearly didn’t like it. "If that is what you wish, I will have the butler arrange the finest treasures from our vaults. We will ensure the gifts are lavish enough to silence your father’s tongue."
"That won’t be necessary," she said, eting his eyes with a different light. She shook her head, a cold, calculated smile touching her lips. "In fact, I won’t be going there with any gifts at all. But I will be returning with sothing."
Vincent blinked, looking completely lost now. His strategic, military mind was trying to parse her words, but the idea of a new bride showing up to her own Gifting Ceremony empty-handed and demanding a prize was entirely outside his area of expertise.
His thoughts stalled completely.
"You are going to a Gifting Ceremony... without gifts?" he repeated, the utter bewildernt in his voice making him sound almost human. "Penny, what exactly are you planning to take from them?"
Penelope pressed her lips into a thin line.
She knew that at so point, she was going to have to disclose her family’s wretched secrets to her husband. Even if every instinct in her body scread for her to handle this vendetta on her own, she knew that would not be possible. To pull this off, she needed the absolute, terrifying weight of the Marquis’s protection backing her up.
"Actually..." she began, her gaze dropping as the mory of her mother softened the sharp edges of her voice. "Before my mother passed, she didn’t just leave mories, Vincent. She left a substantial inheritance, a maternal trust tied directly to my lineage. According to imperial law, a woman’s maternal dowry is protected from her husband and father. It remains sealed until she either reaches adulthood or marries into a higher station."
She looked back up.
"My father and Lady Genevieve have been acting as the re custodians of those funds. Although I reached adulthood three years ago, I had no backing. But now that I am married to you, the law dictates that the trust must be dissolved and transferred entirely into my possession."
The faintest hint of contempt crossed her face.
"They don’t deserve a single courtesy gift from , nor am I going there to beg for their useless charity. I am going back to reclaim what already belongs to . But... enforcing imperial law against a Baron is not sothing I can accomplish alone. I... I will need your n to escort personally to the estate. I will need your protection."
Vincent’s lips curved into a subtle, dangerous frown when she finished. The confusion in his eyes vanished, replaced by the calculating coldness of a strategist.
"Is there a particular reason why he would risk breaking imperial law to keep it from you?" Vincent asked, his voice dropping to an octave.
"My father is drowning," Penelope explained, a bitter smile touching her lips. "He is currently buried under a mountain of debt from failed investnts and Mirabel’s lavish lifestyle. The creditors are already closing in, but he cannot touch a single gold coin of the inheritance because it requires my signature and my personal seal to be released."
Her fingers tightened together unconsciously.
"I am worried that my retaliation at the palace will push him into a corner and make him do sothing desperate. I must retrieve the ledger and the keys before he finds a way to forge my consent or destroy the evidence entirely."
She looked at him now, her hands clasped tightly before her chest in a silent, desperate plea. "So... will you help ?"
Vincent didn’t speak.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as the gears of his mind ground to a sudden, jarring halt.
So...
This was it.
This was the actual foundation of her sudden change, the hidden calculus behind her brilliant, terrifying return to his side once more. The inheritance mattered imnsely to her. And to secure ownership, she needed a weapon powerful enough to shield her from the fallout.
Of course.
If not to wrap herself in his monstrous reputation, what other reason would a woman like Penelope have for willingly marrying a man like him?
It made sense now.
The puzzle pieces slid neatly into a pattern Vincent had known all his life.
Useful.
He was... useful.
Useful to her.
A dark, twisted sort of comfort settled quietly into the hollow spaces of his chest. As long as he remained an indispensable shield, as long as his na carried enough terror to keep her safe, she would have a reason to stay by his side. She would never leave him if her survival depended entirely on his shadow.
And perhaps that was enough.
No...
He did not mind being a tool in her hands; to be honest, he had long accepted what the world believed him to be.
He was nothing but a sword to be pointed toward whatever needed destroying.
People had always valued him for his usefulness, so why should Penelope be any different? She did not owe him that kind of devotion.
But as he looked at her anxious, upturned face, why did the realization still sting so sharply?
Why had so foolish, undisciplined part of him allowed itself to hope otherwise? Why had he allowed himself to consider, even for a second in that carriage, that she was looking at him and not the armor he wore?
anwhile, Penelope stared at him, her breath catching as the quiet in the room grew heavier, turning almost oppressive. His unreadable face unsettled her, sending a prickle of nervous dread down her spine.
Had she pushed too far? Had she miscalculated his willingness to interfere in her family’s affairs?
Slowly, Vincent moved away from the edge of the vanity table, the movent sudden enough to make her straighten instinctively.
He took a few deliberate steps forward, his boots heavy against the floorboards, until he stood just inches away from her.
He stood close enough that she had to tilt her head upward to et his eyes.
He lood over her, a massive, imposing silhouette, yet his posture held no threat, only a profound, absolute surrender to her will.
At last, he spoke.
"Do as you wish," he replied, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that carried no judgnt, only a chilling finality. "My n are mine, just as they are yours to command. I have more than enough power for you to use, Penny. Take as much of it as you need. Spend my na, use my authority. Take whatever you require and do not hold back in the slightest."
He reached out, his large hand hovering for a fraction of a second before his fingers gently brushed against the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her jaw with a possessive, heavy warmth.
"If there are consequences later on—if you burn that house to the ground and the kingdom demands an account—I will handle it. Lay your burdens on . That is what I am here for."
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