Damon took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. The shock of finding her there was slowly wearing off, quickly replaced by a deep, heavy wave of confusion.

"What are you doing here?" Damon asked again. His voice was slightly louder this time. He took a single step away from the table.

He looked at how incredibly relaxed she was on his thick wool blankets. She did not look like a woman who had wandered into the wrong room by mistake. She looked like she had planned this.

Damon frowned deeply. His eyebrows pulled together. "Who said you can sleep on my bed?" he demanded, trying to bring back his cold, strict tone.

Camilla did not look intimidated by his deep voice or his angry frown. In fact, she looked highly amused.

She slowly shifted her weight on the soft mattress. She uncrossed her ankles and stretched her legs out slightly. She tilted her head to the side, letting a thick lock of her beautiful red curly hair fall over her delicate shoulder.

"My Lord," Camilla purred. Her voice was incredibly soft, low, and smooth. It sounded like a cat stretching in the warm sunlight. "The night is long."

As she spoke, she did not look into his eyes. Her gaze dropped downward. She openly and boldly stared at his bare chest. She let her eyes travel slowly down the hard lines of his abs, tracing the small faded white scars.

She licked her bottom lip slowly. "Shouldn’t we keep each other company?" she asked, her voice dropping into a very suggestive, teasing whisper.

Damon felt a sudden, massive rush of heat flood his face. His cheeks turned a dark shade of red. Having his own wife openly stare at his half-naked body made him feel incredibly exposed and deeply flustered.

He caught her eyes traveling down his stomach. Panic instantly set in.

Damon quickly broke eye contact. He spun around rapidly, his bare feet shifting on the wooden floor. He rushed over to the chair where he had draped his heavy clothes earlier.

He moved with clumsy speed. He grabbed a simple, loose white linen shirt from the back of the chair. He hastily pulled the shirt over his head, shoving his strong arms through the sleeves. He did not even bother to tie the laces at the collar. He just desperately needed something to cover his exposed chest and hide from her wandering eyes.

He turned back to face her, pulling the white shirt down over his waist. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to regain his dignity.

"What did you say?" Damon asked. His voice was slightly breathless from his sudden rush. He crossed his arms defensively over his now covered chest, glaring at her from across the room.

Camilla watched him put the shirt on in a complete panic. She found his reaction incredibly funny.

She smiled a playful, bright smile. She sat up slightly straighter on the bed.

"I said," Camilla replied, her voice light and cheerful, "let’s keep each other company. Let’s play a little game."

Damon stood completely perplexed. He lowered his arms slightly, staring at her as if she was spitting fire out of her mouth.

A game? It was the middle of the night. He was exhausted from riding a horse to the military camp and back. He had just dealt with the mental stress of a dead head maid and the news of her brother’s beating. And now, she wanted to play a game?

Damon did not say a word. He just stood there, looking at her with a blank, totally unamused expression on his face. He refused to entertain her foolishness.

Camilla watched his blank face for a few seconds. The playful smile slowly melted off her lips. She realized he was not going to play along. He was exactly like a boring, heavy stone wall.

Camilla rolled her dark eyes toward the ceiling. She let out a loud, highly annoyed scoff.

"Unbelievable," Camilla thought to herself. Her internal voice echoed clearly inside Damon’s head. "Even playing a game won’t get a response from you? You are so incredibly boring. A piece of dry wood has more personality than you do."

Damon tightened his jaw. He heard her insult, but he ignored it. He needed to establish order in his own private sanctuary.

Damon spoke firmly, his voice deep and strict. "Why play a game so late at night? It is time to rest. Get out of my bed. Go back to your room and sleep."

He turned his body slightly, pointing his large hand directly toward the door that led out to the hallway, silently commanding her to leave.

Camilla did not move a single inch. She did not slide off the mattress.

Instead, she sat up perfectly straight on the bed. She folded her small hands neatly on her lap, resting them on top of the smooth white silk of her nightgown.

"I cannot go back to my room," Camilla stated simply. Her voice was calm and completely factual.

Damon frowned again. "Why not?"

"My room is locked," Camilla explained. She raised her delicate shoulders in a small, helpless shrug. "The iron lock is completely jammed from the outside. I tried to turn the handle, but it would not budge. I cannot get inside."

Damon narrowed his eyes. The locks in this mansion were perfectly maintained. They did not just suddenly jam.

"Then go sleep in one of the guest rooms," Damon ordered impatiently. The mansion was massive. There were at least twenty empty bedrooms down the hall. "There are plenty of other beds in this house."

Camilla wrinkled her nose slightly, looking deeply offended by his suggestion.

"The guest rooms aren’t up to my standards," Camilla complained softly. She looked at him and batted her long, dark eyelashes cutely.

"The mattresses are too hard. The rooms are too cold. They smell like old dust. I am the Lady of the house, I cannot sleep in a dusty guest room."

She patted the soft, thick mattress beneath her. She smiled a sweet, innocent smile.

"The next room after mine is yours," Camilla continued smoothly. "And this is the warmest, most comfortable room in the entire estate."

She paused for a tiny second, letting her eyes meet his.

"And," Camilla added, her voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper, "there’s only one bed."

Damon stared at her. He felt a sudden, rising headache forming right behind his eyes. He realized she was not going to leave without a fight. She had a convenient excuse for everything.

But Damon was not going to share his bed. He was a man of strict rules.

Damon let out a heavy sigh. He dropped his hand from pointing at the door. He turned his body toward the large glass windows on the other side of the bedroom.

"Fine," Damon conceded, his voice full of tired resignation. "You can stay in the room."

He raised his right hand and pointed a long finger toward the corner of the room, right next to the heavy velvet curtains.

"I will just sleep on the..." Damon began to say, his eyes following his finger to the corner.

But the words completely died on his lips. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Damon froze. His hand hung uselessly in the empty air.

He stared at the corner of the room. The space next to the window was completely, entirely bare.

Usually, sitting right there in that exact spot, was a large, incredibly comfortable, padded leather chaise lounge. It was long enough for a grown man to sleep on comfortably. Damon had taken many afternoon naps on that specific piece of furniture.

But it was gone.

Not only was the chaise lounge missing, but Damon suddenly realized the room felt much larger than usual. He quickly scanned the rest of his private bedroom.

The two soft reading chairs near the fireplace were gone. The small, cushioned footstools were gone. Even the thick, fluffy rug that normally sat in the center of the floor had been rolled up and removed.

Every single piece of comfortable furniture in the entire massive room had completely vanished. The only place left to sit or lay down was the single, large wooden bed that Camilla was currently occupying.

"What is going on?" Damon whispered to himself, his voice full of absolute, genuine bewilderment. He lowered his hand. He looked around the empty spaces, wondering if he was losing his mind.

He turned slowly back to face Camilla.

Camilla was watching him discover the missing furniture. She put on a perfect face of absolute innocence.

She let out a long, weary sigh. She looked down at her hands, acting like a poor, suffering victim.

"I know," Camilla said softly, her voice dripping with fake sadness. "I saw it like that when I came here. I originally wanted to sleep on the floor. I did not want to disturb your rest, My Lord. I was fully prepared to sleep on the hard wooden boards like a servant."

She looked up at him with wide, pitiful eyes.

"But," Camilla continued, her bottom lip trembling slightly, "there wasn’t an extra blanket anywhere. I would have frozen to death in the cold night air."