Chapter Five

NICHOLAS POV

I woke up alone in the big bed. The room was quiet, lit by the soft light of the morning sun. The air was cool now, with only a faint smell of the fire that had been in the fireplace. My mind was empty for a moment. Then, like a wave, the memory of the night before came rushing back. The ritual. The mask. The woman who was my bride.

I sat up, the white blankets falling away. The space next to me was empty, the sheets were cool where she had been. She was gone. Just as she was supposed to be. I had been told that after the ritual, the bride would leave before dawn. It was another one of my family's old traditions. A way to show that the ritual was a secret, a private moment that belonged only to us. But even though I knew she would be gone, the emptiness of the bed felt strange. It was a cold feeling after such a warm night.

I got out of bed and walked over to the window, looking out at the city waking up. My mind kept going back to her. The woman from the ritual. The one my father had chosen for me. The woman I believed to be Bianca Winchester.

She was not what I had expected. In my mind, Bianca was a perfect picture. A socialite. A woman of poise and grace. I had seen her from across a room, and I had judged her as a good match for me, a person who understood the rules of our world. But the woman last night was so much more. The moment I took off her veil, I saw her face in the soft light of the fireplace, and it was like I was seeing a person, not a picture. Her eyes through the mask were warm, and her smile was so real.

I had expected a formal night, a cold night, a night of duty. But what I got was something else entirely. Her hands were soft when they touched me. Her lips, when they met mine, were full of a passion I had never felt before. The night was not about duty. It was about something else. Something real and deep. She had responded to me in a way that was surprising and completely new. We had talked without words, just through our actions. It was a language of feelings, of touch, and of a connection that felt bigger than a simple tradition.

I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was a little messy, and my eyes looked tired, but there was a light in them that hadn't been there before. I was haunted by the memory of her. The way her body had felt against mine. The way her soft sighs had filled the quiet room. The way she had kissed me back with so much feeling. It was all real, and it was still with me. It was in my blood.

I took a shower, the hot water washing away the sleep, but not the memory. As I got dressed in a clean suit, my mind was still full of her. I couldn't stop thinking about the difference between the woman I had met last night and the woman I knew as Bianca Winchester. The Bianca I had seen at the dinner was a statue, a masterpiece of a woman, but a statue all the same. The woman I had spent the night with was alive. She was warm. She was fire.

I walked out of the hotel and got into my car. The driver took me to my office, and all the way there, I tried to make sense of it. Maybe the Bianca I had seen in public was just nervous. Maybe she was shy around other people, but showed her true self when she was alone. Maybe this was the private side of her, the side that only I would get to see. This was the only way it could make sense. I am a man who trusts in logic, in facts. My father told me Bianca would be my bride, and I had a night with my bride. It must be her. The warmth, the passion—it was just a part of her I hadn't seen yet. I pushed the doubts to the back of my mind. It had to be her.

When I got to my office, my father was waiting for me. He was sitting in my big chair, looking serious.

"Nicholas," he said, and I knew he was going to ask about the ritual.

"Father," I said, putting my briefcase on the desk.

"How was the night?" he asked. His eyes were sharp, looking for an honest answer. He believed in this tradition more than anyone.

I looked at him, and for a moment, I wanted to tell him everything. About the deep connection, the surprise of it all. But I didn't. I just gave him the answer he wanted to hear. "It was good, Father. Everything went as it should. The bond is set."

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile. "Good. That is what I wanted to hear. Now, we can begin the wedding plans. The family is pleased. We will have a new wife, and a new heir to carry on our legacy."

I sat at my desk and looked out the window. My office was high above the city, and the world below looked like a toy town. I had the world at my feet. I had a wife, a name, a future. But my mind was still in that hotel room, with a woman who had given me a part of herself. A part of herself that was full of a warmth and a passion I couldn't forget. I told myself it was Bianca. I had to believe it. This was my life now. This was my duty. I had to let go of the strange feelings and focus on the future.

But even as I told myself these things, a little voice in my head kept asking questions. The woman I was with last night was not the same woman I had seen in public. One was a picture, the other was a painting. One was a name, the other was a feeling. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that the painting and the feeling were the only things that mattered. But for now, I would keep that a secret, locked away in my own mind. I would go on with my life, with my duty, and I would tell myself that the woman I was haunted by was the same woman I was about to marry. I had to.