Lucien didn't believe in miracles.
Miracles were accidents.
What Seraphina was building?
Mathematics. Precision. Ruthless inevitability.
He stood at the edge of the map room, watching her rearrange cities like chess pieces.
A flick of her finger sent trade lines shifting. A note on the margin turned a border into a weapon.
Behind her beauty, behind the silk and wine, there was a mind sharper than any blade.
She wasn't building clubs.
She was building veins across the kingdom—veins that would pulse with gold and guilt and never stop feeding her.
Lucien made notes as fast as he could. Calculations. Projections. Blackmail investments disguised as loans. Silent acquisitions of minor noble estates.
Ashgrave was already too small for her.
The Velvet Sin brand had launched in Silverdeep without a ripple—just a polite whisper of "exclusivity" and "prestige." Within a month, it was feeding gold into her coffers faster than most fiefdoms made during harvest.
By winter, if no one moved against her,
Velvet Sin would out-earn three noble families combined.
He adjusted his spectacles, feeling the rush of it—the old thrill he hadn't tasted in years.
Power.
Real power.
And it didn't sit on a throne.
It walked the halls of Ashgrave in velvet slippers and whispered contracts into the ears of desperate men.
Lucien almost pitied them.
Almost.
Because he had the books.
He had the secrets.
And he served her.
Seraphina turned, eyes gleaming with something colder than excitement.
"Where do we hit next?" she asked.
Lucien smiled, slow and dangerous.
"Vellmore," he said. "The scholars are corruptible. They just need better prices."
Her smile matched his.
And together, they began to sketch the next vein of the empire.