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E leanor should have been happy. She should have been glowing, lost in the warmth of Graham’s embrace, in the whispered promises they had exchanged in the library. She should have been basking in the fact that, after years of heartache, he still loved her.

But the moment she entered the drawing room the next morning, all warmth vanished. Her brother was standing there, speaking in hushed tones with Graham. And the moment they saw her, both men fell silent.

Her stomach dropped. She stopped mid-step, tightening her fingers around the folds of her skirt. “What is it?”

James and Graham exchanged a glance—one that only confirmed what she already knew. Something was wrong.

She lifted her chin. “Tell me.”

Neither spoke.

She turned to the man she had kissed so passionately last night. “Graham, please tell me.”

His jaw tightened. It was plain to see he didn’t want to tell her. That alone sent a shiver down her spine.

Her pulse pounded. “What are you hiding from me?”

James rubbed a hand over his face. “Eleanor… Lord Redgrave is back in London.”

The world tilted. Her breath caught in her throat, but she did not move. Did not speak. She barely registered the way Graham tensed beside her, the way his hands curled into tight fists.

Redgrave. The name alone sent a sickening wave of cold dread through her veins. He was supposed to be gone.

She had spent a whole year learning to breathe again, convincing herself that she was finally safe. And now—he was back?

Eleanor swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… does he want?”

Graham stepped closer, his presence a shield, a wall of protection she desperately wanted to lean against.

“We don’t know yet,” he admitted, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. “But he’s been asking about you.”

A shudder racked her. Redgrave wasn’t the kind of man to return without purpose. He was calculated. Ruthless. A man who did not let go of what he believed was his.

Eleanor felt her chest tighten, the memories clawing at her, pulling her back into the past—his hands gripping her wrist too tightly, the way his voice had slithered into her ear, telling her that resistance was futile. She fought off the rising panic, forcing herself to breathe.

James watched her carefully. “You don’t have to see him, Eleanor. He can’t touch you anymore.”

She forced herself to nod, even as her mind raced.

But Graham—he probably saw right through her. His hand found hers, his grip warm, steady. He said nothing—but his touch said everything. I’m here. I won’t let him hurt you .

She clenched her jaw, steadying herself, forcing her heartbeat to slow. “Do you know where he is staying?”

James shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ll find out.”

Eleanor exhaled slowly, her resolve hardening. She would not run. Not again. But what if Redgrave wasn’t just here for revenge? What if he was here to finish what he started?

Her fingers curled around Graham’s hand. And for the first time in years, she was not afraid to hold on.