Cassian looked at Olga across the length of the room.
He did not appear surprised to find her there. He did not appear required to explain himself to her, either. He simply held Cixi in his arms a fraction more securely, inclined his head by the smallest possible degree of acknowledgement and carried Cixi, without a word, past Olga toward the bedroom door, with his unhurried footsteps. His expression remained unreadable.
Olga did not move.
She watched the Devil of the Crown family carry the woman she had begun to believe was her daughter across a living room, toward a bed Olga had no right to know the location of. With possessive composure, he held Cixi like a precious object to a shelf that belonged to him, and the betrayal she had carried out of her own marriage a few minutes ago doubled in weight without warning, because Cassian was carrying a woman who could be her daughter. She was worried about Cixi and that Cassian was —Alive!
