Rebekah stepped out of the Continental into the cool morning air, her heart still fluttering with the aftershocks of the night before. The world seemed brighter, the city more alive. She walked through the French Quarter with a new confidence, every step a silent declaration of freedom. For the first time in centuries, she felt unburdened by her family's legacy—no longer just a Mikaelson, but a woman with her own story.
But as she neared the Mikaelson estate, reality crept back in. The house loomed before her, stately and imposing, a reminder of the roles she and her brothers were expected to play. She paused at the gate, drawing a steadying breath, then slipped inside.
The aftermath of the party lingered in the air: the scent of spilled wine, the echo of laughter, the faint trace of magic. Elijah was already awake, sitting in the parlor with a book and a cup of tea. He looked up as she entered, his expression softening with brotherly concern.
"Rebekah," he greeted, setting aside his book. "You were gone when I woke. Did you enjoy the party?"
She smiled, careful to keep her emotions in check. "It was… memorable. I needed some air, that's all."
Elijah studied her, his gaze sharp and knowing. "You seem different. Happier."
Rebekah shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Maybe I am. Maybe I just needed a night to myself."
Before Elijah could probe further, Klaus stormed in, his mood as stormy as ever. "There you are, sister. I trust you didn't get into too much trouble last night?"
She met his gaze with a playful smirk. "Not more than usual, Nik."
Klaus narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You disappeared before the party ended. Who was he?"
Rebekah's heart skipped, but she kept her voice light. "Just a masked stranger. A good dancer, nothing more."
Kol, who had been eavesdropping from the doorway, grinned. "Our Rebekah, always finding the most interesting company. Should we be worried?"
She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you're all worse than a pack of old hens. I'm allowed to have fun, aren't I?"
Elijah intervened, his tone gentle but firm. "Of course you are, Rebekah. But if there's anything you wish to share—anything at all—you know you can trust us."
For a moment, she considered telling them. About the masked man, the garden rose, the way he made her feel alive and seen. But then she remembered Sagar's words: No rules, just honesty and fun. This was hers, and hers alone.
"I appreciate it, Elijah," she said softly. "But some things are better kept secret. At least for now."
Her brothers exchanged glances—curiosity, concern, and a grudging respect for her newfound independence. The Mikaelsons were always a family of secrets, after all.
As the day wore on, Rebekah found herself smiling for no reason, humming snatches of music from the night before. She replayed every moment with Sagar in her mind—the laughter, the intimacy, the sense of magic and possibility.
She didn't know what the future held. She didn't know if she would see Sagar again, or if their paths would cross as friends, lovers, or rivals. But for the first time in her long life, she felt truly free.
And that, she decided, was a secret worth keeping.