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Sometime in the middle of the night, he felt warmth sliding across his waist.

Half-asleep, he assumed it was Seraphina. He caught the hand on reflex, pulled the body against his, and started rubbing a soothing circle on a back.

Seraphina had anxiety. She woke up easily in the night.

He'd pull her in, rub her back, and hum her back to sleep. Six years. It was something his body knew without asking.

"Sleep."

The words caught in his throat.

The body in his arms.

Seraphina was small. He could tuck her entirely against him with one arm. She wore a quiet woody perfume.

This body was bigger. And the smell —

Hospital antiseptic. The one Seraphina hated most.

He sat up like he'd been stabbed. Looked down. Vivienne. Red-cheeked.

"Damien..."

"Why are you here?" His voice was hard.

"Of course it's me." She smiled up at him. "You drank too much. I brought you some honey water in case you felt sick. The second I stepped in, you grabbed me and wouldn't let go."

Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were bright and calculating.

She sat up, spine straight, and leaned in to kiss him.

He pushed her off before she got close. Impatient.

"Vivienne. You're misreading this."

"I have a family. I have the woman I love. For you — all I have is gratitude."