The mirror was unforgiving.
Katherine stood before it, her silk robe hanging loose around her shoulders, her fingers resting just below her navel. There was nothing to see—not yet—but she could feel it. A shift. A weight she couldn't explain. She turned slightly, eyeing her reflection from the side, looking at her belly and her body as she turned side to side.
The candlelight wavered, casting distorted shadows across her face. She felt different. Was it real? Or was this just another trick of the mind?
The floor creaked behind her.
She barely had a second to compose herself before Vincent's presence enveloped her. His warmth pressed into her back, his breath fanning against the sensitive skin of her neck. The scent of him—faintly spiced, rich like aged bourbon—stirred something deep within her. His arms wrapped around her waist, strong and possessive, his fingers slipping just beneath the silk of her robe, resting over her stomach.
"What are you looking at?" His voice was deep, hushed, as if they weren't standing in their dimly lit bedroom but on the precipice of something far more dangerous.
Katherine's throat tightened.
"Nothing," she murmured, dropping her hand from her stomach.
Vincent wasn't convinced. His grip on her waist tightened slightly, his thumb stroking slow circles over the fabric of her robe. He lowered his head, lips grazing the shell of her ear.
"You're quiet," he noted, his voice a whisper of silk and sin.
She exhaled softly.
They both spoke at the same time.
"I—"
"You first," Katherine said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't ready.
She had been ready only moments ago.
The words had been forming, sitting heavy on her tongue, demanding release. But now, standing here in his arms, something stilled her. Would this change everything? Would he look at her differently? Would it frighten him, knowing there was another life bound to theirs now? A life neither of them had planned for, yet one she could already feel deep within her bones.
Vincent hesitated for only a second before turning her in his arms. The movement was deliberate, unhurried, his fingers firm yet gentle as he guided her to face him. His dark eyes burned into hers, searching, reading every unspoken thought she tried to hide. Then, with the same unshakable certainty that had drawn her to him in the first place, he said, "I'm getting you out."
Katherine blinked. "What?"
"Away from all of this," Vincent continued, his hands sliding up her arms, anchoring her. "From her. From the debt. From this city." His voice was low, deliberate, as if he'd spent hours, days, calculating every step before speaking them aloud. "I found a place. A house. A real house, Katherine. Just outside Charleston. White columns, sprawling gardens—private, quiet. It's ours the moment we leave."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Charleston?" The word felt foreign on her tongue, as if she were speaking of a place that existed in another lifetime, one that didn't belong to her.
"I'm handling it," Vincent said. "A fresh start. No more looking over your shoulder. No more debts, no more threats, no more being at anyone's mercy." His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to his. "You'll be free, Katherine. Completely free."
A life.
Their life.
"You're handling it?" She asked, not understanding what he meant by what he said. And about the new life he speaks of, she could almost picture it—their home bathed in golden light, the scent of magnolias in the warm air, the distant hum of waves against the shore. She imagined waking up to his touch, to peace, to a future untouched by the ghosts of their pasts.
For a moment, it was intoxicating.
But the illusion cracked too easily.
Madame Dupont would never let her go. Not truly. Katherine had seen what happened to the girls who tried to leave. Their stories always ended the same way: with bodies found in the river or never found at all.
And then there was the other truth. The one she hadn't spoken aloud.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold Vincent's gaze.
"You sound so sure," she whispered.
"I am sure." His grip tightened, his conviction unwavering. "I would burn this city to the ground before I let anyone take you from me."
He meant it.
Katherine's breath caught. She saw it in his eyes—the deadly promise laced beneath his devotion. He would fight for her, kill for her if he had to. And he would never stop. Not until she was free.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, Vincent closed the space between them, pressing his forehead against hers. The moment was quiet, a stolen breath of stillness amid the storm raging around them.
His hands slipped lower, smoothing over the curve of her hips, gripping her as if he needed to feel her, to ground himself in her presence. Then his lips found hers—soft at first, then deepening, consuming. He kissed her like she was the air he breathed, like she was already his, as if there was no other reality but this.
Katherine melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body yielding to his touch. He walked her backward, guiding her until her back met the cool surface of the vanity. His hands slid beneath her robe, palms mapping the heat of her skin, tracing over the soft swell of her thighs.
"Vincent," she whispered, breathless.
He swallowed her name with another kiss, his fingers pressing into her flesh, molding her against him. His touch sent fire racing through her veins, igniting something deep, something raw.
The mirror behind them reflected their tangled forms, the desperation in their movements, the hunger between them. And for a moment, Katherine let herself believe in this dream, let herself believe that escape was possible, that freedom was within reach.
Her fingers curled around the fabric of her robe, pressing into her stomach once more.
The slightest shift. The smallest possibility.
A mirage.