Amelia stepped outside Countess Khan's estate with a heavy heart, her manuscript safely tucked under her arm, though her mind swirled with unease. The warmth of the drawing room faded quickly into the brisk Edinburgh evening, and a shiver crept down her spine—not from the cold, but from the lingering words of Benjamin. They echoed in her mind, gnawing at the budding confidence she had felt before.

The sight of the family carriage provided no comfort this time. Lucian was probably already aware of her self-doubt as she half-expected. Instead, Clyde, the coachman, a burly figure dressed in a well-worn coat, greeted her with a curt nod and opened the door.

"Where is lord Ciaran?" she asked, a note of worry in her voice as she scanned the interior, expecting to see Lucian's familiar form reclining in the shadows.

"His lordship has instructed me to fetch ye first, Miss Balfour," Clyde said in his thick brogue. "He'll be meetin' ye shortly."

Amelia hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of the carriage door. Something about the situation felt... wrong. Her instincts, sharp as ever, urged her to ask more questions. Yet she didn't want to burden Clyde with her suspicions. He was just doing his job. So she found herself climbing inside, settling into the plush seat as Clyde closed the door behind her with a soft thud.

As the carriage began to roll down the cobbled streets, Amelia's tension only increased. She peered through the window, watching as they moved farther from the city's heart. The familiar streets gave way to darker corners, and soon, the houses of ill repute that lined the outskirts of Edinburgh came into view. Brothels.

Her stomach churned. What business did Lucian—as lord Ciaran—have here?

She leaned forward, knocking on the window that separated her from Clyde. "Excuse me—Clyde, where are we going?"

The burly man glanced back but said nothing. He merely reached for a latch on his side of the door, securing it tightly.

Panic shot through her. "Oye, I wish to get out!" she demanded, pulling at the door handle, but it wouldn't budge.

"Orders from Lord Ciaran," Clyde said, his voice a flat wall of obedience. "Please, stay inside, miss, until he arrives."

Amelia's breath quickened. She pressed her palm to the glass, peering out into the dimming streets as the carriage slowed near an alleyway. Had Clyde lied to her? Why would Lucian have taken somewhere so dangerous?

Then, from the shadows, silhouette appeared.

It was unmistakable, even in the fading twilight. His stride was casual, as though he had no care in the world, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Lucian walk up to the carriage. The coachman hopped down from his perch and handed Lucian something—a small parcel, perhaps—and then Lucian slipped him a few coins before opening the door with his characteristic devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Miss Balfour, I trust you had a productive meeting?"

She stared at him, her hands still clutching her manuscript. "Where have you been? And why did you send Clyde without you? We passed... some rather unsavory places."

Lucian leaned back, not bothering to answer immediately, his eyes glittering with something she couldn't quite place. "I had some business to attend to. Nothing you need concern yourself with."

"Business?" she pressed, her voice edged with suspicion. "In the brothels?"

Lucian chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Not everything is as it seems, my dear. Trust me when I say it was harmless... though I wonder if you'd enjoy knowing the details." His eyes glinted with mischief, as though daring her to push further.

But she didn't back down. "I think I would. So why won't you tell me the details of what you've been doing?"

Lucian's grin faded slightly, and he shifted in his seat, his posture still far too relaxed for her liking. "Curiosity can be dangerous, angel," he said softly, his eyes holding hers. "Perhaps there are things you're better off not knowing. Don't you trust me?"

The words stung, twisting something deep within her. Of course she trusted him—or at least, she had been trying to. But moments like this, when he withheld information and played his games, made her doubt everything.

"Trust isn't blind, Lucian," she whispered. "And I don't like secrets."

His lips curved back into that infuriating smile. "All in due time, my dear. Now, let's head back. You've had quite the day, haven't you?"

Without waiting for her response, Lucian tapped on the roof, signaling Clyde to start the carriage again. The tension in the small space between them was palpable, but Lucian acted as though nothing was amiss, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Amelia wanted to push him further, demand answers, but something held her back—perhaps it was the intensity in his gaze, or perhaps it was the creeping realization that she was starting to rely on him more than she cared to admit.

Even hours later, Amelia lay awake in her room, staring at the ceiling. The cryptic answers and Lucian's unsettling grin haunting her. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something.

Secrets. That's what Lucian dealt in. Every conversation with him felt like a dance on the edge of a precipice—thrilling but dangerous.

Her fingers tightened around the covers. Enough was enough. If Lucian wouldn't tell her the truth, she'd find it out herself.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed door that led to Lucian's room. He wasn't there, of course—but his coat was draped over the back of a chair, and without thinking, Amelia went to it, her fingers rifling through the pockets.

At first, there was nothing of note. A few coins, a handkerchief. But then, tucked deep inside, her fingers brushed against something stiff—something like a card.

Her heart raced as she pulled it free, holding it up to the moonlight. The card was simple, elegant in design, with a single name scrawled across it in elegant script.

Mistress Blackwood.

A chill ran down her spine. Who was Mistress Blackwood, and why did Lucian have her card?

Her mind swirled with possibilities, none of them pleasant.