Morning light crept through the curtains like a guilty intruder—pale, watchful, settling on the spot where Evan had stood.

I hadn’t slept.

Not truly.

I’d lain in bed, fingers pressed to my lips as if I could wipe away the kiss. The feel of his tongue inside my mouth.

I wasn’t sure what haunted me more—his kiss or the fact that he had the audacity to taste like sin, wine, and a hint of peppermint.

But my skin betrayed me. It still hummed, still pulsed, still remembered the grip of his hands and the command in his voice.

I told myself it hadn’t meant anything.

That it was Evan doing what Evan always did—taking, demanding, claiming.

But the worst part was… I had let him.

No.

Not let.

Wanted.

I sat up abruptly, the sheets clinging to my legs, and shoved the thought away.

This was nothing. This was a lapse. A momentary weakness, like slipping on a loose stone and maintaining eye contact with the devil.

I rose and crossed to the table, meaning to distract myself with something ordinary. Tea, perhaps. Or a book I wouldn’t finish.

Or maybe I’d just pace the room and pretend I wasn’t having an emotional breakdown in chapter twenty-seven of my villain origin story.

Anything to ground me.

That’s when I saw it.

The wine glass.

Still sitting where he’d left it.

Empty, of course. Evan never left anything half-finished. Not even me.

Ten out of ten for follow-through. Zero out of ten for emotional safety.

I stared at it, irrationally furious that something so mundane could feel so intimate. I reached out as if to clear it away—but I didn’t.

Instead, I traced the rim with one finger, remembering the curve of his smirk, the weight of his stare.

I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not for Evan. Not for Lorran. Not for any of it.

This was meant to be clean. Strategic. Cold.

But suddenly, everything felt like a mess I couldn’t name.

Like I'd spilled my heart across the floor and didn’t have the good sense to clean it up.

…or pretend I hadn't seen it.

Evan had distracted me to such an extent that I wasn’t careful enough to avoid Lorran.

So, there I was, staring at my ex-fiancé, who was staring back at me.

If I had a silver coin for every time a man looked at me like I was a riddle he couldn’t solve, I’d have enough to buy back my ruined estate and maybe a pair of boots that didn’t squeak.

Lorran was looking at me like that now.

We stood in the city square, surrounded by merchants hawking overpriced herbs and women arguing over the quality of cabbages. Romance, clearly, was in the air.

“I was hoping I’d see you again,” he said, his grin wide.

“You’re persistent,” I replied. 

“And you’re not like the other girls,” he said, tilting his head like a curious fox.

“That’s probably because I’m not,” I replied. “I have all my teeth, for one.”

His smile was slow. “There’s something about you.”

Yes. It was the unresolved guilt, the hidden identity, the deep thirst for revenge. Or maybe the perfume. I’d started mixing orange blossom with a hint of rage.

“I’ve had that effect on men before,” I said lightly. “They usually recover.”

He stepped closer. “I think I’ve been searching for you longer than I realized.”

Oh no. Not the soulful confessions. Not before lunch.

I glanced at the sky, pretending to be contemplative. “That sounds like something you should unpack with a therapist.”

Lorran laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked tired, as if something heavy was pulling at him beneath the charm.

He didn’t know it, but the ghost of the woman he had once loved was standing right in front of him, pretending to be someone new.

“Run away with me,” he said.

I nearly dropped my handbag. Of all the things we could have said to me, that wasn’t anywhere near what I expected.

“That’s not something you should joke about,” I scolded, letting my vexation come through.

He took a step closer to me. “I mean it, Cassia. Run away with me. I have enough money, and we can live comfortably. Leave behind the courts, the gossip, and the backstabbing nobles.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

“Don’t say another word. Just…” He picked up my hand, placing a kiss on it. “Consider it. Please. I’ll be here in three days at sunrise. If you decide to take me up on my offer, I’ll be waiting with open arms.”

And with that, he turned and fled, as if fleeing would prevent me from saying no.

Which, in fact, it did.