Chapter 351 Negotiating Terms

Chapter 351: Chapter 351 Negotiating Terms

Emilia’s POV

Two days back under this roof, and I’d seen about as much of my own mate as you’d catch of a passing comet.

Sebastian left before dawn and dragged himself home long after the moon was high. And even then, even after the front door clicked shut behind him, the man couldn’t put the work down. He’d hunch over his laptop until midnight, that glow washing cold over his face, fingers flying across the keys.

By the third evening, I’d had my fill.

I walked into his study, planted both hands flat on the edge of his desk, and leaned in until I was impossible to ignore.

"Do you realize," I said, "that we haven’t sat down to a single dinner together these days?"

Sebastian’s eyes never left the screen. The keys kept clattering. "I’ve been swamped lately."

"Oh, I’m well aware. Which is exactly why I’ve made an executive decision." I straightened up and crossed my arms. "I’m going back to work. I’ll step in and cover Fynn’s position until he decides to grace us with his return."

That got his attention. He looked up, calm. "Absolutely not. Your doctor was crystal clear. You rest, or there’s no baby."

I rolled my eyes. "In case it slipped your mind, we already found ourselves a supernatural workaround."

"We did. And I also happen to know that two methods stacked together give us far better odds than one." He laced his fingers and fixed me with that maddeningly reasonable look. "I did my homework, Emilia. Prenatal vitamins, ovulation windows, all those charts women keep. Timing is everything."

"Well, color me impressed. Look at you, doing research." I tilted my head. "But here’s my little problem, husband. You’re so buried in work that we never cross paths, and you’re certainly never in our bed. So riddle me this. How exactly are we supposed to make a baby?"

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He arched one dark brow. "Oh? Are you standing in my study, complaining that I haven’t been spending enough time with you between the sheets?"

Heat crept up my neck, and I shoved it back down. "I’m trying to help you, you impossible man. "

"Then I’d much rather you wanted me in that bed," he smirked.

"Be serious." I jabbed a finger at him. "Day after tomorrow, I’m showing up at your office whether you like it or not."

"Hey, why not tomorrow?" He actually had the nerve to sound wounded. "If you came tomorrow, I might even get to lay eyes on you over lunch."

I rounded the desk, bent down, and kissed him quick before he could trap me there. "Because I’ve got an appointment tomorrow. Now be a good Alpha and get back to work."

The next morning, I walked into Hexworks with my lawyer two steps behind me and my game face on.

Vesper Crane rose to greet us, that sharp, calculating gleam already in her eyes. I didn’t waste her time. I told her, plainly, that I’d reviewed her proposal top to bottom, that her method was sound, and that I was ready to sign.

She practically preened. "Wonderful. I knew you’d see reason. A woman of your intelligence always does."

"There’s one small adjustment," I said, settling into the chair across from her and crossing one leg over the other. "We’ll pay half upfront. The rest once the work is complete and successful."

Her smile cooled a few degrees. "Half? That’s, forgive me, a rather insulting show of faith in my coven’s abilities."

"Faith." I let the word sit there a beat. "See, that’s precisely the trouble. Your coven’s reputation doesn’t exactly inspire it."

I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "So here’s my counteroffer. Sixty percent up front. The remaining forty? That’s yours no matter what. Success or failure. Rain or shine."

Vesper blinked. I watched the math tumble behind her eyes, watched her weigh the lost leverage against the guaranteed cash. Greed won in a landslide, the way it always did.

"Done," she said.

My lawyer slid the contract across the desk. Vesper picked up her pen, uncapped it, lowered it to the signature line.

And stopped.

Her gaze snapped up to mine, suddenly sharp. "You’ve worked a binding spell into this contract."

I held her stare and said nothing.

"A covenant spell." She tapped the paper, and I felt the faint hum of her magic brush against mine. "It isn’t just legal, is it. It’ll hold in the law courts, fine, but it also carries force. Witch’s force. Break this contract and the backlash won’t come from any judge."

Her lip curled. "Where does a mongrel with no coven learn a working like this?"

"My mother’s grimoire," I said pleasantly.

I’d found it tucked between a recipe for fever tonic and a charm against sour milk, written in her careful, slanting hand.

"It’s a very small spell, Vesper. Nothing dramatic. Just a little insurance that you’ll actually follow through and hold up your end."

She read the clause over one more time, her jaw working, then breathed out through her nose. "Dealing with clever people," she muttered, "is such a dreadful chore. Remind me to never, ever work with you again after this."

And then she signed.

The instant her name hit the line, I felt it. A thin, cold thread of my own power leapt off the page and coiled tight around her, snug as a leash. A binding. A restraint. Mine.

I kept my face smooth and bored. Inside, my heart slammed against my ribs.

It worked, I breathed to Eve. Moon above, it actually worked.

"Of course it did." Eve’s voice rolled warm. "That’s your mother’s blood, Emmy. Did you really doubt it?"

I hadn’t let myself hope. And now the proof was sitting right there, leashed and signed, glaring at me from behind her desk.