The moment Vivienne and Seraphina stepped through the doors of the Edevan estate, their mother's voice rang through the halls like a bell of doom.
"What in heaven's name happened to your dress?" Lady Alura exclaimed, rushing toward her daughter with a look of scandalized horror. She held the fabric up between her fingers like it had personally betrayed her. "Vivienne! Must you always find a way to drive me mad?"
"Mother, please—"
"No, don't 'mother' me. This is the second time this month! Is there a reason you're so determined to disgrace this household?"
"It was an accident!" Vivienne tried to explain, stepping out of her boots, her voice flustered. "I—I bumped into someone. I didn't even see him coming. It just… tore."
Alura's lips pressed into a line, her brow still drawn tight. "Bumped into someone," she repeated mockingly. "Vivienne, this gown is silk from Avenlor. Do you know how many favors your father owed to get this delivered in time for the gathering?"
"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Vivienne said, lowering her head. "I tried to fix it myself. I really did."
Her mother sighed sharply, then waved a hand in the air like brushing away dust. "Enough. First thing tomorrow, you take it to the tailor. If he has any sense at all, he'll know what to do with it. And if not—well, you may as well walk about in rags for all I care."
Seraphina, ever quiet during family quarrels, slipped silently up the staircase.
Baron Edevan appeared in the corridor just as Alura turned away, his face unreadable. He looked at his daughters but said nothing, only nodded toward Vivienne with a sigh of his own, and followed his wife.
The morning sun crept through Vivienne's curtains like golden fingers, warm against her cheek. She stirred with a frown, blinking against the light. Her hair was in disarray, the curls wild from sleep, but her skin glowed in the early light, untouched by makeup or care.
She stretched lazily, then remembered the dress—and the tailor.
Soon she was out the door, the torn dress carefully folded in her arms. As she walked through the village square, voices called to her with fondness.
"Good morn, Lady Vivienne!"
"You're out early again!"
"Watch that smile, lass, or you'll blind someone with it!"
She laughed and waved, charming as always. Vivienne Edevan was not merely known—she was beloved.
When she reached the tailor's shop, the old man squinted at the fabric, running careful fingers over the tear.
"Tsk. Who did this to such fine work?"
"Someone's elbow," Vivienne said with a sheepish smile.
"Mm. I'll have it fixed by evening. Come back then."
With her arms now free, Vivienne made her way into the woods—her feet knowing the path by memory. The trees formed a canopy above her, their green shadows dancing gently in the wind. Birds called overhead, and the scent of damp earth filled the air.
Soon, the water came into view—a small, serene lake, nestled in the heart of the woods. It was wide enough for boats, but not endless; its banks lined with smooth stones and patches of moss, as if cradled by the forest itself.
This was her place.
She knelt by the edge and let her fingers brush the water's surface, watching the ripples carry outward in soft waves. It calmed her, always had.
Then she turned—and collided with something solid.
Arms caught her waist.
Her breath hitched.
She looked up.
Lucian.
He stood close, his hand still firm around her waist. His dark eyes were unreadable, the curve of his mouth faintly amused. His presence was like a shadow—quiet, dark, but impossible to ignore.
"You should mind where you're going," he said softly.
She was too stunned to speak, too aware of how close he was, how his hand lingered, how the heat from his touch trickled down her spine.
He smirked.
"I see you're a bumper," he said.
Vivienne blinked, her lips parted. "What are you doing here?"
Lucian raised a brow. "Enjoying the woods. Is that not allowed?"
"Not if you're lurking like a ghost."
His smirk deepened.
Her cheeks flushed, but she stood her ground, even as his hand slid from her waist at last.
They stared at one another for a beat too long.
"Vivienne," he murmured, like tasting the name.
She swallowed. "You remembered."
Lucian tilted his head. "It's not easily forgotten."