The marathon session had lasted until dawn.

Mia finally succumbed to the crushing weight of exhaustion, drifting into a deep sleep anchored in the crook of Damien's arm. Her senses were saturated with his signature scent—Gucci Envy, a woody oriental blend that radiated a predatory elegance: desire, trend, and raw sex appeal.

For two years, this scent had been the most familiar thing in her world. It had seeped into her skin and her psyche, providing a strange, contradictory sense of security.

She slept soundly, surrendering herself entirely to his presence. Only now did she realize that what her mother had once told her was true: When you truly love someone, you can wake from a night of dreams without feeling the distance.

Damien won the final round and glanced at his watch. It was nearly three in the morning. Seeing Mia sleeping so peacefully in his lap, a rare flicker of hesitation crossed his beautiful face. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

The movement disturbed her. Her lashes fluttered, and she quietly blinked her way back to consciousness.

Damien grazed her cheek with his thumb, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Time to go home."

"...Okay," Mia whispered. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the fog of sleep, and sat up.

Julian Lancaster stood up immediately. "Stay here tonight, Damien. It's too late, and the drive is exhausting."

"No," Damien replied, picking up his car keys from the table. His smile was dazzlingly sharp. "I have a psychological barrier about getting into bed in someone else's house..."

Julian, Kitten, Alistair, and Mia all went silent.

Finally, Alistair Sterling cleared his throat, attempting to bridge the awkwardness from a medical perspective. "A bit of... exercise before bed... leads to first-class sleep! Yes, high-quality slumber..."

Mia and Julian looked away, while Kitten just grinned.

Suddenly remembering something, Kitten grabbed Damien's arm and dragged him outside, demanding he open the trunk of the Spyker.

Left alone in the living room, Julian handed Mia her coat with a polite, easy grace.

"Thank you," Mia said, taking the garment. She genuinely liked Julian; he was the only person in this family who didn't feel like a threat.

Julian watched her for a moment, then asked casually, "Mia, do you have a habit of being unable to sleep in unfamiliar beds?"

Mia froze, looking at him with wide-eyed curiosity. "...How did you know?"

She did have that habit—a psychological manifestation of her lack of security that she'd had since childhood. Two years ago, when she first entered Damien's world, it had taken her six months of agonizing insomnia to finally adjust to the environment he had provided.

It was her most private vulnerability. She hadn't expected Julian to understand it.

Seeing her shock, Julian laughed softly. "It's not that I understand you, Mia. It's that I understand Damien."

He leaned against the sofa, his expression gentle. "You've never seen Damien when he was single. Back then, he played hard. In a situation like tonight, the old Damien would never have gone home. He's already turned off his phone; even if I let him go, a dozen other people would be blowing up his line to drag him to the next club. With his background and his luck, once he hits the nightlife, he doesn't get out until noon."

Mia listened, her eyes growing wider. "Then today..."

"He can handle the pace," Julian explained, "but you can't. If he had chosen to stay here or go out, you would have been forced to sleep in my guest room or a hotel suite. I guessed your habit because Damien is insisting on going home solely for your sake. He wants you to be comfortable."

Mia stood there, speechless.

Julian rubbed his chin, recalling Damien's earlier excuse. "A 'psychological barrier' about other people's beds... only a man like him could pull a nonsense reason like that out of thin air without blinking."

Out in the garden, Damien was leaning against the door of the silver Spyker, looking languid and bored. He watched Kitten work like a frantic laborer, hauling heavy crate after heavy crate into his car until the sleek hypercar looked more like a farm tractor.

Damien finally strolled over. "Hey. If I'm going to smuggle goods for you, I need to inspect the inventory and collect my fee."

"No looking! No looking!" Kitten shrieked, shielding the boxes like a hen protecting her brood. She ended up throwing her arms around Damien's waist in a bear hug to block his view. "You can only look when you get home!"

Before Damien could even react, the back of Kitten's collar was snatched upward.

Julian hauled her back, unceremoniously peeling her off his brother. "If you have something to say, say it with your mouth," he muttered, his tone laced with a trace of jealousy. "No hands."

Kitten pouted, but Damien just let out a dark, amused huff.

Under Julian's watchful eye and Kitten's enthusiastic waving, Damien and Mia finally drove away. Even as the car cleared the gates, Mia could still see Kitten's silhouette in the rearview mirror, waving frantically in the moonlight.

The black Spyker glided smoothly through the deserted streets toward their estate.

When the engine finally cut out in their driveway, Damien turned in his seat. He reached out and touched Mia's face. "Still sleepy?"

"I'm alright." She had been exhausted, but the bite of the night wind had cleared her head.

Damien draped his overcoat over her shoulders. "If you aren't tired, get out of the car. There's one last thing to do."

Mia watched as he fastened the buttons for her. "What is it?"

Damien didn't answer; he just smiled and pinched her cheek. He climbed out, walked to the rear of the vehicle, and popped the trunk.

Seeing the massive crates filling the space, Damien's smile turned lazy. He tapped the side of the car. "That little savage Kitten... she actually knows how to set a mood. Julian has taught her well."

Mia walked over and finally saw the contents. The trunk was overflowing with fireworks.

Damien rubbed his chin, letting out a slow, thoughtful sigh. "I smuggle illegal arms; she smuggles fireworks. No wonder I find that brat so relatable."

Mia let out a soft cough. "Are we going to light them?"

"We are." Damien rolled up his silk sleeves, his movements methodical as he began unloading the crates. He was a man who normally disdained such "low-tech" amusements, but tonight was an exception.

"It wasn't easy for that girl to haul all these boxes into my car," Damien noted as he lined the fireworks up on the pavement with unexpected patience. "Since she married Julian, he hasn't let her lift a finger for manual labor—aside from the trouble she goes looking for herself. It would be a waste of her physical effort if we didn't appreciate the results."

He bent down, half-kneeling on the cold ground. He lit the fuse, then stood up and walked slowly toward Mia.

The moment he reached her, the fireworks erupted behind him.

A seductive man standing before a seductive display—in that instant, the world around them felt like a hallucination, vivid and breathtakingly beautiful.