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She squared her shoulders, trying to push down the hurt she could no longer contain.

“Oh, it makes perfect sense now, Killian,” she said, her voice trembling with quiet fury. “So, whatever this business of yours is, it is far more important than your daughter.”

Her words grew colder, her heart turning to ice.

“What? My daugh?—”

“If you can treat your own daughter like that, then I suppose there is nothing stopping you from treating me the same way.”

She had tried to ignore the deep ache in her chest—the ache that reminded her that theirs was a marriage of convenience and nothing more. But now, she could feel it pressing in on her, suffocating her, making everything feel that much emptier.

Killian’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something darker now. But it was fleeting, just a brief moment before he took a step toward her.

“Yvette, what are you?—”

“No,” she cut him off sharply, her voice almost a hiss. She turned her back on him, her body rigid as she took a few steps toward the bed. “I have heard enough.”

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her as she moved away, but she refused to look back. Not when she was so angry, so hurt by his actions, and his dismissal of her feelings.

“I need to sleep now,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “Please leave my room, Your Grace.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, she wondered if he might argue with her again. But he didn’t.

Instead, there was a soft rustling, the faint sound of his boots retreating across the floor.

When she heard the door close behind him, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

The following morning, Killian tried to approach Yvette during breakfast, but was met with her cold silence the moment heentered the room. She didn’t even look up as he sat down at the table, her focus entirely on her meal, as if he were a ghost.

He cleared his throat, his tone deliberate and controlled. “May I speak to ye, Duchess?”

She didn’t reply, not even a glance. Her hand moved carefully, pushing the food around on her plate without actually eating.

Her refusal to acknowledge him irritated him, but he kept his composure.

Recalling Yvette’s mention of Maisie during their argument, Killian’s sharp gaze shifted to the little girl, who seemed unusually quiet, picking at her food also.

Normally, Maisie was full of life and energy at the breakfast table. But today, there was a dullness to her demeanor.

“What were you up to yesterday?” Killian asked, his voice firm but not unkind.

Maisie hesitated for a moment, casting a furtive glance at Yvette before responding.

“I… I had a surprise for you, Papa. The Duchess said we could show it to you together, but you didn’t come when you said you would.”

The guilt rose briefly in Killian’s chest, and he tried to mask any indication of it on his face with his usual stoic expression. He knew he’d failed to keep his promise, and now he saw how that had affected his daughter.

Killian turned to Yvette, his voice carrying an edge of command. “I was busy. But ye can show yer surprise to me now, if ye’d like.”

Yvette sighed softly, her dissatisfaction evident.

The sound caused Killian’s jaw to tighten, though he kept his gaze fixed firmly on her.

Her disapproval was clear. He didn’t want to let her disdain distract him from his daughter, but the situation was beginning to get under his skin.

“Do not worry, Papa. The surprise has been ruined.” Maisie told him, a little frown on her face as she jumped down from her chair and ran toward the stairs.

“I hope this makes you happy,” Yvette finally spoke, but she didn’t award Killian with no chance to respond as she stood up, pushing her chair back with sharp precision, her demeanor still distant.