Tamsin lingers in the shadowed vicarage study, her fingers brushing the heavy ledger as Oscar's hand settles over hers. Sunlight through the open shutters throws their overlapping shapes across the page, a silent warning of how easily a passing parishioner could see.
He guides her with the same stern care that protects their position, yet behind closed doors his palm delivers the discipline that quiets her deepest fears. Each time he bends her to his will she finds the permanence she has always sought, even while the threat of exposure coils tighter around them both.
One wrong sound from the path, and the line between protection and scandal will snap.
