The penthouse was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator. William Croft stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Sophie Laurent wash a mug. She looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped under the weight of the secret she had almost confessed hours earlier.
“You should be asleep,” William said softly.
Sophie jumped, the mug slipping from her soapy hands. Before it could shatter, William moved with reflex speed, catching it mid-air. He placed it on the counter, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He rested it over hers.
“I can’t sleep,” Sophie whispered, staring at their hands. “I feel like… I feel like I’m waking up from a long nightmare, and I’m afraid to open my eyes.”
“You aren’t the one waking up,” William said, his voice rough with emotion. He turned her to face him. The “Ice King” mask was gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability. “For a year, I lived in the dark, Sophie. I thought that was all there was left for me. Cold and silence.”
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But you… you brought the light back. You saved me from the dark.”
The tension that had been building since the Gala finally snapped. William leaned in, and this time, there was no hesitation. He kissed her. It wasn’t a tentative, testing kiss; it was desperate and consuming, a physical reclaiming of life after a season of death.
When they pulled apart, breathless, William rested his forehead against hers. “I want to try,” he murmured. “For real. No more hiding.”
Sophie closed her eyes, her heart swelling with love and terror. She kissed him back, sealing the pact, even as the shadow of Lady Beatrice’s blackmail loomed over them.