Vassal froze, his mind blank, his chest rising and falling as if the air itself weighed too much. He wondered if this was nothing but a dream, some trick his brain played on him. Or maybe it was just his eyes blurring what was real. To prove it, he pinched the flesh of his thigh hard enough to leave a mark. The stab of pain made his jaw tighten. This was real. Not a dream. Oh God. Where was the boss he once knew? The Jude he remembered stood like a wall of ice, distant and unreachable. That man had vanished, and in his place was someone else entirely. Vassal's breath hitched. ... The man who ruled with cold command and cast a shadow too deep to escape. Now Jude seemed more dangerous in silence than he ever did in fury, and that thought crawled down Vassal's spine. He backed away slowly and carefully, his heart pounding against his ribs. Lord above. If the others who followed Jude saw him like this, the shock would crush them. Fear would take root in their bones. Then Jude's voice sliced through the stillness. "Vassal." "Yes, sir!" Vassal flinched, sure Jude had caught him sneaking off. He stumbled forward quickly. "Boss, I came to give you the latest report on Ryan and the others ... " "That isn't important right now." Vassal's eyes went wide. "What?"In all his years with Jude, he had never heard him speak those words. Jude had never dismissed business as unimportant. "Call the nearest country that sells Juliet roses. I want one hundred of them flown in immediately. I need them tonight, no matter the cost." Juliet roses. The crown jewel of roses. Delicate, radiant, and regal. Soft as silk, yet burning with passion. And the price was staggering. Three million. Not dollars. Drechmes. The number meant nothing to Jude. But it was not the money that rattled Vassal. It was the fact that Jude wanted roses at all. For anyone who knew Jude, it was like the earth had split open beneath their feet.Unlike Alfie and Maurice, who already understood Jude's devotion to Tilda, Vassal was only now beginning to see it clearly. The Bells were bracing for a storm. ... Darkness fell when Vassal drove Jude to Tilda's apartment. Jude had taken care with every detail of his appearance. A deep green shirt, fitted slacks, polished high-top leather boots. Casual, of course. His flawless features sharp as a statue, his lips pressed together in stern control, yet a trace of wicked charm lingered there too. In his arms, he carried a fresh bouquet of Juliet roses. No woman alive could resist a man like that—magnetic, breathtaking, carrying roses worth millions that shimmered like sparks in the night. Still ...To Vassal, the sight felt unreal. The king who once seemed carved from stone had bent himself this far for one woman. It was something Vassal never imagined he would live to see. "Vassal, what do you think of me right now?" Jude's question broke the silence. "What? Uh ... " Vassal blinked, lost in thought. "I asked if I look good," Jude said, his tone cooling. "Yes ... yes, you look good," Vassal answered quickly. The words were not empty. They were true. Jude was beyond compare. Yet the man who once stood proud and unshakable now needed reassurance. "Good." Jude breathed in deeply, steadied himself, and stepped out of the car with the roses in hand. Vassal stayed behind, his body trembling and drenched in sweat. He sank back into his seat as if every ounce of strength had left him. When Tilda received Jude's message, she rushed to the door. The moment she opened it, her eyes landed on the bouquet first, then on the man who carried it. He was so striking he seemed unreal. Her lips lifted into a grin as she took the roses without hesitation. "Well, look at you, Mr. CEO. These roses don't even sell in Cetherland. You must've spent a fortune on them." "As long as you like them, Tilda, I don't care what they cost." "Smooth talker. Come on in. Dinner's almost done." She carried the roses into the living room and set them gently on the couch. Then she hummed a tune as she hurried back into the kitchen. The second Jude stepped inside, a wave of rich fragrance wrapped around him. The scent tugged at his senses, twisting his stomach with hunger. His training had taught him to endure every need, but this smell was impossible to ignore. It was proof of Tilda's skill in the kitchen. Or maybe it was more than that. It was because she, the woman he loved, had cooked this meal with her own hands. That made it the finest food he could ever taste. He watched her move in the kitchen, apron tied, her steps quick and graceful as she worked. His eyes softened, filled with a warmth he had never allowed himself before. For the first time, Jude felt a happiness he had chased his whole life. The simple kind. The aroma of dinner in the air. The woman he cherished waiting for him at home.The promise of laughter, shared stories from the day, and quiet talks about tomorrow.