The m, Evelyn awoke with an uling warmth in her chest—one she refused to name.

  She bmed the duke, of course. Damian Vale, with his infuriating arrogance, his sm stares, and that kiss—God, that kiss—had ruined her perfectly ordered world.

  She stormed into the breakfast hall, determio pretend nothing had ged. But the moment she saw him, sitting at the far end of the table, fingers zily curled around a teacup, she knew.

  Everything had ged.

  Their eyes met.

  And the smirk that slowly tugged at his lips made her stomach flip in the most annoying way.

  "Good m, my fiancée," Damian drawled, taking a slow sip of tea, as if he weren't the very cause of her sleepless night.

  Evelyn stiffened. "Don't call me that."

  He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his golden eyes. "Would you prefer 'my love' instead?"

  She nearly knocked over a servant's tray. "I would prefer you to choke on your tea."

  Damian chuckled, setting his cup down. "Ah, and here I was hoping you'd fess you missed me."

  "Missed you?" she scoffed, marg toward her seat. "I dreamt of all the ways I could strangle you in your sleep."

  His smirk widened. "Dreaming of me already? Careful, darling, or I might start thinking you've fallen for me."

  Evelyn shot him a murderous gre before snatg a piece of bread and tearing into it—if only to keep herself from throwing it at him.

  The worst part?

  She wasirely sure he was wrong.