Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
“We’ll stop by your dorm first,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Pack whatever you need.”
“That won’t take long.”
He glanced at her. “Take your time. We’re not in a rush.”
“No, I mean—” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture he was beginning to recognize as embarrassment. “It really won’t take long.”
Seven minutes later, and he finally understood what she meant, with Mira coming back to him with a single suitcase, a backpack, and a worn cardigan draped over her arm.
“This is it.”
No, Zacharie thought. It was not.
And that was because as soon as they arrived at his estate, he guided her straight to the study and gestured to his laptop.
“Shop.”
Mira blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Online. Whatever you need. Clothes, books, art supplies—”
She laughed again, but this time the sound was softer. Wondering.
“I don’t need anything else.”
“That’s not true—”
“Is so,” she insisted. “But...there is one other thing you can help me.”
“Name it.”
Two hours later, and Zacharie deeply regretted his lack of caution.
They were seated across from each other in the living room, Mira curled up on the sofa with a notebook in her lap, her pen moving in quick, eager strokes as she documented his answers.
The interview—because that’s what this was, he realized too late—had started innocently enough.
“For the next Infernalis book,” she had explained, her eyes bright with creative excitement. “Luc has a backstory I’ve never fully explored. I thought maybe you could help me understand what it would really be like. The undercover work. The isolation. The...” She had hesitated. “The personal costs.”
He should have said no.
He should have recognized the trap for what it was.
Instead, he had nodded and settled into the armchair across from her, telling himself that this was simply research. Impersonal. Professional.
That delusion lasted approximately fifteen minutes.
“So during long-term assignments,” Mira said, her pen hovering over the page, “how did you...I mean, how do agents typically handle...” Her tone turned awkward. “Personal needs?”
Zacharie’s jaw tightened.
He could lie. Deflect. Change the subject.
But she had asked for honesty, and he had never been able to deny her anything.
“One-night stands,” he said flatly. “During foreign missions. To relieve pressure. They meant nothing.”
She nodded, scribbling notes, but he caught the way her shoulders tensed slightly.
“And relationships?” She kept her eyes on the notebook. “Did you ever...?”
“Once.”
Her pen stilled.
“Almost,” he amended. “There was a colleague. We worked together for three years.”
Mira looked up then, and he saw the question in her eyes even before she asked it.
“What does ‘almost’ mean?”
This...was the trap he should have seen coming.
Zacharie exhaled slowly. “I considered marrying her.”
“Oh.”
It was just one word, but it was enough to make him wince.
“That’s...” She cleared her throat. “That’s good research. Thank you. I think I have enough—”
She was already moving to stand, to retreat, but Zacharie was faster.
He crossed the distance between them before she could finish rising, his hands catching her shoulders, and when she tried to pull away—embarrassed, he realized, mortified that he had seen that flash of hurt—he simply gathered her into his arms and settled back into the armchair with her on his lap.
“Let me go,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled.
“No.”
She tried to squirm away, but this only had him tightening his grip.
“Let me finish, Mira”
The words came out taut. Almost raw. And something in his tone must have reached her, because she went still.
“I was tired,” he said quietly. “Tired of the endless missions. The constant vigilance. I thought marriage might give my life some semblance of normalcy.” His hand moved to her hair, stroking absently. “So yes. I considered it.”
Mira didn’t respond.
“But then she came back from her last assignment,” he continued, “and told me she’d had a one-night stand while undercover. Standard practice. Meaningless, just as mine had been.”
He felt her breath catch.
“I didn’t feel anything,” Zacharie said. “No jealousy. No betrayal. Nothing. And that’s when I knew.”
Slowly, Mira lifted her head. Her eyes were still guarded, but curiosity had crept in alongside the hurt.
“Knew what?”
“That it would be pointless to marry someone who didn’t disturb me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then, slowly, the tension in her shoulders began to ease. She leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, her expression shifting into something he couldn’t quite read.
“In that case,” she said solemnly, “I accept your indirect proposal. I’ll marry you.”
She was smiling as she spoke, and even though they both knew she was merely joking—the words still sounded too disturbingly right to his ears.
And that was how the days that followed went as well.
Every moment with her was disturbingly right, mostly because Zacharie recognized something between them. Something he had witnessed between Calixte and Eden but never thought possible for himself.
Until now.
Until her.
In the past, his objective with every woman had been to learn everything about her—not out of affection, but out of necessity. To ensure she wasn’t positioned to stab him in the back or shoot him in the middle of the night.