Steam still clung to Marceline’s skin as she stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped securely around her damp body. Her hair dripped lazily down her back, strands clinging to her shoulders. The room, lit by the muted glow of mid-morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, felt strangely quiet—too quiet.

Cross sat across the room on a chair, legs crossed, phone in hand. He didn’t even look up when she entered. His thumb moved rhythmically across the screen, eyes fixed on something far more important than her. The ever-aloof devil she was now legally bound to.

The maids had already vanished, like ghosts slipping through the walls, leaving behind...