Catherine's POV

He'd showered me with a tenderness that somehow morphed into something desperate - his hands turning me against the bathroom wall, taking me under the scalding spray until my knees buckled.

Now I lay sprawled across the bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion yet thrumming with an energy I'd never known.

Maybe sex was important after all. Important enough to make me forget my wedding vows, important enough to leave me tangled in the sheets with my husband's son, who was currently kneeling to slide socks onto my still-damp feet.

The absurd domesticity of it made my chest ache. Evander had never helped me after sex - he'd always left me bruised and hollow, forcing me to crawl back to my room alone while he returned to his other wives. Pleasure had been a one-way street with him, his satisfaction the only thing that mattered.

My gaze traced over the man before me - his hair dark with moisture, the towel slung low around his hips. Water droplets still glistened on his collarbone. Handsome didn't begin to cover it. The sight of him made something primal twist in my gut.

"I need to get something to eat," I murmured, testing my voice.

"I'll go."

I shook my head. "Your hair's still wet." My fingers twitched with the urge to touch it. "I don't want them getting ideas. I'll be back soon - just stay here. And don't touch anything."

His quiet nod followed me out the door. The palace halls were dark now, the usual dinner hour long past. I bypassed the dining room entirely, collecting a tray from the kitchen staff with practiced indifference. The return walk felt endless, my grip tightening with each step until my knuckles ached.

Then I pushed open the door - and froze.

Soren sat cross-legged on the rumpled sheets, dressed only in his sweatpants, my unfinished manuscript spread across his lap. The food tray nearly slipped from my fingers when I saw which page he was reading - the very scene I'd worked on last night. He scanned the words with an unreadable expression.

I shut the door harder than necessary, making him glance up. After setting the tray on the bed, I reached for the papers, but he lifted them just out of reach.

"Hey, I haven't finished reading this yet," he protested.

"I told you not to touch my things," I hissed. "How did you even find it?"

He shrugged, the movement making his bare shoulders flex. "Found it under the sheets. Catherine, this is amazing—"

"No, it's garbage you shouldn't be reading." My face burned as I raked a hand through my tangled hair.

"You don't need to put yourself down like that." His voice softened. "You're talented. Seriously talented."

Defeated, I sank onto the mattress beside him. Part of me wanted to keep this purely physical, but that night on the balcony had cracked something open between us. Could we be friends? Real friends - the kind you confide in, not just sleep with?

Friends with benefits seemed too crude a label for whatever this was becoming. Maybe I could just enjoy whatever time we had left before he left. After three suffocating years, didn't I deserve this small rebellion?

"I've never let anyone read my work before," I admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's...embarrassing." My stomach chose that moment to growl, prompting me to reach for the shepherd's pie.

"I only got through a few pages since your organization is terrible," he teased. "But let me get this straight - it's about a serial killer?"

"You should try this," I said quickly, offering him a spoonful.

His eyes narrowed playfully. "You're not trying to change the subject, are you?"

"No," I giggled as he accepted the bite.

He chewed thoughtfully before turning to me with raised brows. "This is actually good. Though not as good as you."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"I'll keep flirting until you tell me about your book." He leaned closer. "What inspired Paul?"

"I don't know, really." I shifted uncomfortably. "I just have nightmares about it and write what I remember, blending in other random themes."

"Nightmares?" His playful tone turned serious.

"Yes. Of him killing a new lover after...you know." I dropped my gaze. "I'm sorry, that sounds creepy. I know I'm weird."

"That would make me weird too."

"No, you shouldn't—"

"It's called mirroring. That's how you talk about yourself." His warm hands enveloped mine, then lifted them to his lips. The kiss he pressed to my knuckles sent goosebumps racing up my arms. "And you shouldn't tell yourself lies, okay?"

I could only nod, my mouth full of pie. His presence was so...calming. Which was ridiculous considering how thoroughly he'd unraveled me hours ago. Twice. Yet here we were, having what felt like an actual conversation.

"I want to read the other chapters. Can you send me the file?"

"File?" I nearly choked. "What file?"

"You don't write on a laptop or phone? Or do you just prefer the typewriter?"

"I...don't have any of those."

He froze momentarily before smiling and threading his fingers through mine. "We'll fix that."