The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of silk and the occasional crackle from the fireplace, casting warm flickers across the plush, richly furnished chamber. Logan sat on the edge of the velvet chaise, his fingers idly curling a strand of Freya’s hair, drawing patterns without thought, just enjoying the weight of her presence beside him. Freya, seated close enough for their knees to brush, felt a mixture of comfort and fluttering anticipation, her fingers loosely resting in her lap ...