The procession reached the heavy doors of the estate conference room. Polished wood gleamed like a mirror beneath the lights, and the air pulsed with quiet expectation.

  He stopped. He turned to Celeste, his voice low but absolute. “I can handle this. Go.”

  Celeste’s eyes held his for a long moment, measuring him, before they softened in quiet acceptance. “I understand.”

  He bent and kissed her forehead with deliberate tenderness. She closed her eyes, letting the brief warmth linger against her skin, then turned without hesitation. The sharp click of her heels faded down the hall as she walked away alone.

  He faced forward again and gestured for Camille and Savina. Together the three of them crossed the threshold into the conference room.

  Just before the door closed, he paused and cast a knowing gnce toward the women gathered nearby. His eyes lingered on The Mistress for half a beat—sharp, unreadable, heavy with intent.

  Then the door shut behind him with a deep, final thud.

  Silence wrapped the corridor like velvet.

  Marisol leaned in first, her voice barely above a whisper. “There he goes…”

  Noa’s eyes widened a fraction, disbelief flickering across her face. “No… way.”

  The Mistress stood apart, arms crossed, her gaze locked on the closed door as if it were a challenge she already understood. Her expression remained carved from stone.

  “He’ll be fucking her by ten p.m.,” The Mistress said.

  Marisol’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “Most definitely…”

  Noa turned to them, mouth parting in surprise. “Shouldn’t that… like… bother us? Or something?”

  The Mistress did not move. Her eyes never left the door. “Long game, little one. Long game.”

  Only then did she turn, her heels striking the marble with crisp authority as she started down the corridor toward the common area.

  Marisol and Noa exchanged wide-eyed gnces before hurrying after her, their voices still hushed and urgent. “Inevitable,” Marisol hissed.

  Noa gnced back once more at the sealed door. “He already pnned it.”

  Their words trailed away as they followed The Mistress, while the conference room door loomed behind them like a sealed vault—its silence heavier, and far more knowing, than any spoken word.