The farm felt heavier in the days after Damien’s visit. His words clung to Aurora like smoke, seeping into every thought. She couldn’t walk through the strawberry rows without remembering his sneer, his promise that she would “regret” defying him.

But regret was not what Aurora felt as she woke at dawn beside Ethan’s farmhouse window. It was resolve.

She wasn’t the helpless girl Damien thought she was anymore.

Ethan noticed the change too. At breakfast, when he pushed a bowl of oatmeal toward her, she barely touched it, her eyes sharp with thought.

“You’re planning something,” he said, his tone almost amused.

Aurora lifted her chin. “If Damien wants to play dirty, then we’ll show him we’re not defenseless. He left fingerprints on this. We just have to find them.”

Ethan tilted his head. “Fingerprints?”

She leaned forward, her voice steady. “The chemicals in the soil. No farmer around here uses them—at least, not legally. Damien must have bought them through a supplier. If we can trace it, we prove sabotage.”

Ethan’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “That’s the Aurora I remember. Always scheming.”

Aurora flushed, but she didn’t deny it. Schemes were her survival, and this time, she would use them for more than family pride.

The first step was discreet inquiry. Ethan took Aurora into town, where the farm-supply stores lined a narrow street. Together, they asked subtle questions about recent purchases. Aurora handled it like a seasoned player—her polite smile disarming, her tone curious but never desperate. Ethan, with his quiet honesty, backed her up, earning trust where her reputation might not.

Most storekeepers shook their heads. But at the third shop, the owner hesitated.

“Strange you ask,” the man said slowly, lowering his voice. “A week ago, some city fellow came in asking for a bulk order of soil treatments. Strong stuff, not meant for strawberries. He paid in cash.”

Aurora’s pulse quickened. “Did you catch his name?”

The man shrugged. “No. But he drove a black car, tinted windows. Didn’t seem the farming type.”

Ethan exchanged a glance with Aurora. Damien, or one of his men.

It wasn’t proof yet, but it was a thread.

That evening, they returned to the greenhouse. Ethan knelt by the damaged plants, carefully scooping soil into a jar.

“I know a professor at the university,” he said. “She studied agricultural chemistry. If we send this sample, she could confirm it’s contaminated. A report from her might hold up in court.”

Aurora crouched beside him, watching his hands steady over the fragile roots. “So we gather evidence. Build a case. Turn Damien’s own methods against him.”

He nodded. “Quietly. If he suspects we’re onto him, he’ll tighten the noose.”

For the first time in days, Aurora felt a spark of triumph. The battlefield had shifted.

But Damien was not idle.

Two nights later, Aurora woke to faint noises outside the farmhouse. Heart pounding, she slipped from bed and crept to the window. Shadows moved in the fields—three, maybe four figures, crouched among the rows.

“Ethan!” she hissed.

He was already awake, pulling on boots. They grabbed flashlights and stormed out into the night. The beams cut across the field, catching the figures mid-act.

“Hey!” Ethan roared.

The saboteurs froze, then bolted, sprinting toward the tree line. Aurora’s flashlight caught the gleam of a car waiting at the edge of the road. The men dove inside, and the vehicle roared away, tires spitting gravel.

Aurora’s chest heaved. “He’s escalating.”

Ethan’s fists clenched. “Then so will we.”