In a matter of days, the tension between them began to fade like mist at dawn. The sharp edges of silence softened, and the house felt less heavy with unspoken words.
That morning, Nicole stirred awake to the tender brush of lips against her cheek.
"Wake up, my sweet lamb," Jasper murmured, his voice low and velvet-soft, "there's something I want to do."
Nicole yawned, her lashes fluttering as she slowly sat up, her hair tumbling in wild waves over her shoulders. She rubbed at her eyes, still dressed in her nightclothes. Jasper, however, was already immaculately dressed, his tailored suit clinging to his tall frame as if he had been waiting for this moment all morning.
A sudden, muffled cough broke the quiet. He turned his face away, pressing a handkerchief to his lips. Nicole's heart tightened at the sight. The Corruption still lingered in him—she could see it gnawing at him in subtle ways, making his temper sharper, his patience thinner.
