The rhythm of the farm had begun to settle into Aurora’s bones. Each morning she woke to the crowing of roosters instead of the clinking of fine china; each night, she fell asleep to the chorus of cicadas instead of muted strings from the family orchestra. It was strange, unfamiliar, and yet… comforting.

But the past never truly stayed buried.

It began with a newspaper.

Aurora had just finished stacking baskets of strawberries near the shed when Rosa came by with the day’s groceries. Among the brown paper bags, a folded tabloid peeked out. Aurora’s heart lurched the moment she spotted her family name splashed in bold letters.

“Williams Scandal Continues: Investigations Uncover Hidden Deals.”

Her breath caught. She grabbed the paper before Rosa could tuck it away. Her eyes darted across the article, scanning names, accusations, half-truths written as if they were gospel. Her father, her uncles, even her mother—each dragged through the mud with gleeful cruelty. And then her own name appeared:

“Aurora Williams, the so-called diamond of the dynasty, has vanished from high society. Sources whisper that her engagement to Damien Blake is quietly dissolved.”

The words blurred. Her hands trembled.

“Hey.” Ethan’s voice cut gently through the haze. He’d come from behind, carrying another crate. “Aurora, don’t—”

But she was already shaking her head, clutching the paper to her chest as though it might devour her.

“I thought… maybe out here I could escape it,” she whispered. “But they won’t stop, will they?”

Ethan set the crate down and crouched beside her. His hand hovered near hers, not quite touching, respectful but steady. “The world loves a scandal. But they don’t know you—not the real you.”

Aurora’s throat tightened. Do I even know the real me?

That evening, gossip stirred among the workers. Someone had picked up the tabloid at the village store and now whispers spread like wildfire.

“Is it true? She was engaged to Damien Blake?”
“Imagine, living with someone who’s been on the society pages!”
“She doesn’t belong here. She’ll run back to the city the first chance she gets.”

Aurora walked past them, spine rigid, but each word clung to her like burrs. The fragile sense of belonging she had nurtured cracked under the weight of familiar judgment.

When she reached her small room, she slammed the door shut and sank against it. The little notebook where she had written about belonging now lay on the desk, mocking her. The word hope she’d scribbled the night before looked naïve, childish.

The next morning, Ethan found her in the strawberry field. She was working furiously, ripping fruit from vines, barely noticing the juice staining her gloves.

“Aurora,” he called softly.

She didn’t look up.

He tried again, stepping closer. “You’ll damage the plants if you pull that way.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” she snapped, her voice sharp with bitterness. She hated the way it trembled, hated that she couldn’t stop the hot sting behind her eyes.

Ethan stayed silent for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, “I know what it’s like to feel everyone’s eyes on you. When I left the city, people said I was a failure. That I was wasting my degree, throwing away potential. They still say it sometimes.”

Aurora finally glanced at him. The sun lit his face, calm and resolute.

“But here’s the truth,” Ethan continued. “They don’t live your life. They don’t feel your heart. You can let their words define you, or you can decide who you want to be.”

Aurora’s throat ached. “And what if I don’t know who that is anymore?”

Ethan’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Then maybe that’s the gift of starting over. You get to choose.”

His words wrapped around her like a blanket—both terrifying and strangely comforting.

Later that week, the shadows from her past took a sharper form.

Aurora had gone into town to help Rosa deliver crates of strawberries. She kept her head low, but the moment she stepped off the cart, she felt eyes burning into her. A small group of townsfolk had gathered around a bulletin board where the same tabloid was pinned. Her face stared back at her, frozen in a photo from a gala long ago—gown shimmering, chin lifted in arrogant pride.

“There she is,” someone whispered.
“The fallen princess.”

Aurora froze. Her lungs tightened. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey.

Then she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Ethan stood beside her, his gaze steady as steel.

“She works hard,” he said, his voice carrying across the murmuring crowd. “Harder than most. Whatever you’ve read, whatever you think—she’s earned her place here.”

The townsfolk shifted uncomfortably. Some looked away. Rosa, standing a few steps behind, crossed her arms with a smirk as if daring anyone to argue.

Aurora’s cheeks burned—not with shame this time, but with something else. Something dangerously close to gratitude, even… pride.

When they were finally alone, she turned to Ethan. “Why did you—”

“Because it’s true,” he cut in simply.

Her chest tightened. No one had defended her like that before. Not even her family, not Damien, not anyone. For a moment, Aurora felt like she could breathe again.

That night, Aurora lay awake, staring at the wooden beams above her. The whispers hadn’t disappeared. The shadows of her past still lingered. But for the first time, she realized she didn’t have to face them alone.

A memory surfaced—two children sitting under a tree, sharing strawberries from a small paper box. Ethan’s smile back then had been the same as now: patient, kind, unwavering.

Aurora closed her eyes. For so long, she had clung to the belief that her worth was tied to wealth, to family, to status. But maybe, just maybe, worth could be found here—in soil-stained gloves, in shared laughter by a fire, in the steady presence of someone who saw her for who she truly was.

And though the shadows of her past still reached for her, Aurora felt the first flicker of light pushing back.