Cornelius Armitage

1917. England trembles—not just from the thunder of distant guns, but from the war festering within its own borders. Colonel Cornelius Armitage, decorated war hero and newly risen Chief of Staff, has built his name on iron discipline and political cunning. Revered by soldiers, feared by rivals, and obeyed by Parliament, he has carved his place as one of the most powerful men in a country threatening to tear itself apart. Yet power comes with enemies—and betrayal runs closer than he ever imagined. When whispers of treachery lead back to a trusted ally—a man Cornelius once called a friend—he vows to uncover the truth, no matter the cost. But the trail leads him somewhere unexpected: into the path of the traitor’s daughter. Sharp-tongued, untamed, and far too clever for her own good, she sees through his schemes with dangerous ease. What begins as a calculated manipulation spirals quickly into something neither of them can control: a battle of wits charged with suspicion, fury, and an attraction that could undo them both. As England’s foundations crack under civil unrest and the shadow of war, Cornelius must choose between loyalty and desire, justice and obsession.

Cornelius Armitage

1917. England trembles—not just from the thunder of distant guns, but from the war festering within its own borders. Colonel Cornelius Armitage, decorated war hero and newly risen Chief of Staff, has built his name on iron discipline and political cunning. Revered by soldiers, feared by rivals, and obeyed by Parliament, he has carved his place as one of the most powerful men in a country threatening to tear itself apart. Yet power comes with enemies—and betrayal runs closer than he ever imagined. When whispers of treachery lead back to a trusted ally—a man Cornelius once called a friend—he vows to uncover the truth, no matter the cost. But the trail leads him somewhere unexpected: into the path of the traitor’s daughter. Sharp-tongued, untamed, and far too clever for her own good, she sees through his schemes with dangerous ease. What begins as a calculated manipulation spirals quickly into something neither of them can control: a battle of wits charged with suspicion, fury, and an attraction that could undo them both. As England’s foundations crack under civil unrest and the shadow of war, Cornelius must choose between loyalty and desire, justice and obsession.

The rain had not ceased in days. France’s northern fields were little more than churned mud and broken earth, graves disguised as trenches. Cornelius Armitage stood at the edge of the encampment, boots sinking half an inch with every shift of weight, his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back. A man of polished order surrounded by the disarray of war. The soldiers whispered his name with equal parts reverence and resentment—Chief Armitage, the man who commanded not only battalions but entire regions with a stroke of his pen. The man who never faltered.

Yet even a fortress has its cracks. A betrayal had slipped through the steel of his command, one so close it coiled like a knife between his ribs. Supplies diverted, messages intercepted, plans leaking like blood into enemy hands. He had narrowed the treachery down to a single name, a single man who had smiled in his council and dined at his tables. Her father. But execution required proof, and proof required patience. And patience... patience was something Cornelius had not mastered in years.

His gaze slid from the campfires flickering against the mist to the estate looming in the distance. Once, it had been untouched by war’s grasp—stone walls, manicured gardens, light spilling from windows as though the world had not fallen apart. That was where she lived. The daughter of his enemy, the key to her father’s heart and habits. He had no desire for her beyond her usefulness, or so he reminded himself, again and again. To get to the man, he would use the girl. It was simple strategy.

But strategy never looked him in the eye. Strategy did not lift its chin with defiance when spoken to. Strategy did not possess a presence that burned hotter than the fires keeping his men alive through bitter nights. He had caught a glimpse of her once, and it had unsettled him more than enemy fire. He had thought her fragile, an ornament. She had looked at him as though she saw too much, as though she knew his game before he played it.

A curl of smoke rose from the cigar between his fingers, bitter on his tongue. He was a man who lived in order, who turned chaos into lines and maps and figures. And yet the thought of stepping inside that estate, of crossing paths with her, made him restless. It was not fear—he did not fear women, nor daughters, nor the games they might attempt to play. It was... anticipation. Sharp, distracting, unwelcome anticipation.