Just before the city’s west gate, he saw a carriage stopped on the roadside, one wheel splintered completely, the horses tied to a tree nearby to graze. A young coachman knelt beside the damage, shaking his head helplessly.

And there, standing a little away from the commotion with her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders, was Sylvia Everard.

The world stopped for a second.

Her hair gleamed pale gold under the sun, though most was tucked under a traveling bonnet. Her posture was graceful as ever, chin slightly lifted despite the frustration in her eyes.

Leon dismounted wordlessly, his boots crunching on gravel as he approached. The coachman looked up and instantly bowed low, recognizing the Duke’s heir. Sylvia turned, startled.

“Leon…” she breathed before she could stop herself.He inclined his head, keeping his expression neutral though his chest tightened. 

“Lady Sylvia. Trouble with your carriage?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then exhaled. “Yes. It seems the wheel cracked completely. The Count was… busy, so I took the smaller carriage for errands.”

Of course he didn’t come, Leon thought bitterly, but said nothing.

He turned to the coachman. “Take it to the east blacksmith. Tell them Brighton House will cover the charge.” 

Then he turned back to Sylvia, gesturing towards the city gate. “There’s a tea shop nearby. You shouldn’t wait under the sun.”

Sylvia hesitated. The old instinct—to refuse him out of self-preservation—burned on her tongue. But his gaze was calm, unreadable, and her resolve wavered.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

They walked side by side through quiet market streets until reaching the tea shop. Leon held the door open for her. The aroma of roasted barley tea and steamed buns wrapped them in gentle warmth as they stepped inside.

They sat across from each other in silence at first. Leon ordered her a cup of her favorite rose tea without asking—she noticed, and her heart ached.

The quiet stretched. Sylvia clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, unable to meet his gaze. Memories she had buried clawed their way back up—afternoons spending at the Brighton estate. Seeing Leon spar in the training yard, evenings spent reading under the rose archways, whispering secrets they never told another soul.

She remembered his quiet smile. The way he would reach up to tuck loose strands of her hair behind her ear with calloused fingers. How his touch was always gentle.

She remembered the day she was told she would marry the Count instead and how she silently disappeared from his life to protect her family’s honour.

Now, sitting before him years later, that same silence returned.

He sipped his tea without looking at her, his brow furrowed as if contemplating military strategy, not the woman before him.

Finally, she forced a trembling smile. “You’ve… grown since the last time I saw you,” she whispered, breaking the silence.

His eyes flickered up. Then, so faintly she almost missed it, he smiled.

“So have you,” he replied quietly.

She dropped her gaze to her teacup, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. They were older now, wiser, trapped in lives they didn’t choose.

But sitting here, across from him with tea between them, for just a fleeting moment—it felt like they were fourteen again.

-----

Meanwhile,

"What are they doing here!?" Evelyn whispered.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, hiding behind a potted plant as her curiosity bloomed into a full-blown espionage mission.

She remembered how she overheard sylvia crying in a corner, confessing to herself that her heart belonged to Leon. And Leon… he had gone cold the day of her wedding. Neither had spoken of it since.

So why now?

"I sneaked out of the mansion quietly just to have some alone time and now what we have here...? At this rate, If they keep staring like that the teacups might crack....maybe I should leave before they see me." She thought.

Evelyn took one slow step backwards—then another—careful not to draw attention.

And that’s when she heard his voice.

“Lady Evelyn. That’s quite the technique. Are you spying… or stalking?”

Her stomach flipped.

She turned slowly to find Kayden, leaning against a brick archway nearby, arms crossed, hood half-down, that same infuriating smile that made her blood boil.

“You!” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

He raised a brow. “Enjoying a quiet day in the city. Until I found the empire’s finest flower crouching behind shrubbery.”

He turned to walk away, clearly planning to disappear again into the crowd—but Evelyn, impulsive and fueled by pent-up everything, grabbed his wrist.

His body stilled. Then, slowly, he turned to her, eyes amused.

“Grabbing a man in public?” he said dryly. “My lady, how inappropriate. Should I scream?”

“You were going to vanish again!” she snapped. “And I have questions. You don’t get to keep swooping in, saying cryptic things, and disappearing like some… some shadowy hero with nice hair!”

He blinked, stunned for half a second. Then he laughed—a soft, rich sound that made her cheeks burn.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve been described quite like that before,” he said, gently prying his wrist free but not moving away. “But if I’m a hero… then who exactly am I saving?”

Evelyn stepped back, flustered. “I— I don’t need saving.”

“Of course not.” He tilted his head. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

She looked down. They were. Just slightly. From anger, confusion, maybe even something else she didn’t want to name.

Kayden’s gaze softened, just a little. “I didn’t mean to disappear. But I had to.”

“Then at least tell me,” she whispered, “what's your name? Who are you?”

His expression flickered—like a candle caught in wind. “Soon,” he said. “I promise.”

And just like that, he stepped back into the crowd.

But this time, he glanced over his shoulder and added with a teasing grin:

“Try not to fall on me again next time, Lady Evelyn. Though I admit… it’s starting to feel like a habit.”

"Oh my god! Urgh! He is so irritating!!!" She screamed in her head scratching her head.

As Evelyn walked aimlessly through the streets her gaze landed on an overdressed plum standing across the street glaring at his pocket watch. It was Count Edverard, Sylvia's insufferable husband. Evelyn zapped and hid behind a carriage. 

She whispered to herself. "Why is he here!? He is only a street across the tea shop. If he comes here it will be over! I really want Sylvia and brother to sort out things! I should delay him somehow! I'm sure taking on a risky mission. Sigh..."