The night was calm, a velvet hush wrapped around Levistis Manor like a luxurious robe. On the second-floor balcony, the city lights shimmered in the distance, and the stars peeked down like quiet witnesses to the unfolding moment.
Augustin curled up in the wrought-iron chair beside the small table, a warm throw draped over his legs. Leclair sat opposite, sipping from a delicate china teacup. The breeze was just right, the conversation idle and soft.
It was perfect.
Until Augustin tilted his head, peering over his cup with that mischievous glint in his honey-colored eyes.
"Leclair," he said sweetly.
Leclair looked up, always cautious when Augustin used that particular tone. "Yes?"
"I want you to cook for me."
There was a pause.
"You what?" Leclair blinked.
Augustin pouted slightly. "Just once. Ethan cooks for Adrian sometimes. Why can't I be pampered too?"
