Chapter 361

Hannah appeared to have finally surrendered to her captivity. Gone were the days of glaring at Vincent with hatred or hurling biting words his way.

Now, she rose promptly each morning, managed Luminara Group's affairs with meticulous care, and ate her three meals with clockwork precision.

At times, she even initiated polite, if shallow, exchanges with Vincent, carefully steering clear of anything too personal. Her once-fiery eyes, brimming with loathing, now carried a serene detachment, tinged with just enough compliance to seem genuine.

That evening, the dining room was quiet save for the soft clatter of silverware.

Hannah cut her steak with elegant precision. When she glanced up, her gaze settled calmly on the man across from her. Vincent looked utterly drained. The dark circles under his eyes were stark, and his plate sat nearly untouched.

Hannah concealed a faint smirk. She already knew the cause.

The servants' whispers painted a clear picture-Vincent toiled late into the night in his study, often forgoing sleep entirely. Sometimes, he slipped into her room. Occasionally, he merely lay beside her for a while.Other times, he perched on the edge of her bed, silently watching her until dawn. His appetite had withered.Coffee seemed to be his sole sustenance these days. Curiously, the only time he ate properly was during these shared dinners with her.

Hannah gazed at Vincent, her voice gentle, almost offhand. "Rough night's sleep?"

The question landed softly, like a leaf drifting onto a still pond. Vincent paused, his fork hovering midair, and met her gaze. Was that concern in her voice? It was the first time since her confinement that she'd shown any care for his well-being.

Hannah held his stare, her expression steady and composed, as if the question were merely a courteous

remark.

A faint spark stirred in his chest, an emotion he couldn't quite pin down. After a brief silence, he swallowed lightly,his voice low and rough. "I'm fine."

She didn't press further. The meal continued in quiet.

That night, Hannah heard the familiar creak of her bedroom door easing open. She kept her eyes closed,feigning sleep.

A long pause followed, so long that she wondered if he'd simply retreat.

At last, the mattress dipped with the weight of another body. Vincent had climbed into bed, but he stayed distant, leaving a space wide enough for a third person between them.

Hannah's breathing remained soft, steady, perfectly serene.

More time passed.

Then, ever so subtly, her body moved-a gentle, seemingly natural turn, as if shifting in slumber. Slow,unguarded. She rolled closer to his side. Her arm, as if by instinct, brushed lightly against his.

In the darkness, Vincent's entire frame tensed. His heart lurched with a sudden, fierce thud.

Then, so faint that it was almost in a dream, Hannah murmured, her lips barely parting, "Don't leave... I'm scared."

The words cut through Vincent's defenses like a blade. His rigid posture began to soften. Hesitantly, he raised an arm and gently drew her closer.

To his astonishment, she didn't resist. Instead, she nestled nearer, as if seeking refuge, her body curling into his embrace.Her cheek brushed softly against his chest, a fleeting yet intimate gesture.

For a moment, Vincent forgot how to breathe. Then, his heart roared back to life, pounding fiercely,uncontrollably. The feeling was foreign. Disarming. Irresistible.

The tension in his shoulders melted, giving way to a fragile calm. His eyes drifted shut. His breathing

slowed, deepened. After countless sleepless nights, he finally sank into true, unbroken sleep.

But then, Hannah's eyes snapped open. No trace of sleep clouded her sharp, clear gaze. Only a cold,subtle smile curved her lips. Her plan was in motion. She would bide her time, earning his trust bit by bit, until she held all she needed to break free for good.

Meanwhile, Claude had healed from his wounds. But now, not only was Hannah missing, so was Margaret.

Vincent's men had spirited Margaret away, hiding her beyond reach. Claude's exhaustive searches had yielded nothing.

A growing darkness shadowed Claude's eyes, fueled by mounting frustration.

A sharp knock sounded at the office door.

"Come in," Claude said curtly, not glancing up from his papers.

Owen stepped inside, his expression guarded. "Mr. Hobbes, a woman is here to see you."

Claude's pen froze mid-signature. A woman? Could it be Hannah? Had she escaped and sought him out? He rose swiftly, striding toward the door. "Who is it?"

"Miss Erica Stanton," Owen replied quickly.

Claude stopped dead. His face turned to stone. "Not interested. Turn her down." The name didn't even warrant a moment of his time.

But Owen added, "She claims to have à critical business proposal, one you can't dismiss. It concerns Miss Scott."