A week slipped by after Luna arrived at Mandes Estate, the days unfolding with a gentle, unhurried rhythm. Each morning brought steady progress.

Dr. Robert continued her treatment with quiet confidence, and the physiotherapist he had recommended worked patiently with her, guiding her strength back  step by step.

Malcolm made sure a nurse was always on standby—not out of alarm, but out of care—ready should Luna need even the smallest assistance.

Her recovery surprised even herself. The pain that once lingered in every movement gradually loosened its hold. She could now walk without support, her steps slow but sure, and the staircase that had once seemed daunting no longer felt like an enemy. Each climb was a small victory, one she rarely spoke of but deeply felt.

According to Dr. Robert, her progress was remarkable. With a few more days of rest and continued therapy, he assured them she would regain her complete mobility.

Malcolm listened quietly, relief softening his expression, while Luna simply nodded—grateful, yet thoughtful—as if her body was healing faster than her memories were ready to follow.

Malcolm found himself consumed by work. With only a few days left before the party, preparations moved at an unforgiving pace. The evening was not merely a social gathering—it was the moment the wedding date of Malcolm and Tia would be formally announced. Every detail, from guest lists to security arrangements, demanded his attention, leaving little room for error.

Beyond the gates of Mandes Estate, the city was already restless. Local newspapers buzzed with speculation, their headlines thick with gossip and half-formed assumptions. The business world watched closely, eager to uncover any hint of truth about the union between the two largest business houses of the city—if not the entire state.

This was no ordinary wedding. It was the convergence of two powerful families, a union that promised to reshape alliances and markets alike. Analysts spoke less about vows and more about valuations, less about love and more about leverage. To them, the marriage represented the most significant business merger in recent times.

And as if that were not enough, Lazarus’s presence cast an even longer shadow. A formidable political figure, his connection to the family only sharpened public interest. If anything, it ensured that every move, every silence, and every whisper surrounding the wedding became newsworthy.

Inside Mandes Estate, however, the atmosphere remained deceptively calm—almost insulated from the storm gathering beyond its walls.

Yet the storm outside was nothing compared to the one gathering within Tia.

Her body was healing, responding faithfully to treatment, but her mind seemed to drift further into uncertainty with each passing day. Clarity did not return with strength; instead, questions multiplied in the quiet spaces between moments. What she felt no longer aligned with what she thought she knew, and that dissonance unsettled her more than pain ever had.

Malcolm’s warmth was not loud or demanding. It was steady, patient, and unwavering—and that was precisely what made her heart falter. He never pressed her, never questioned her silences, never treated her confusion as a flaw. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the truths she had once clung to began to loosen their grip. Certainties she had carried for so long started to fade, not with resistance, but with a troubling ease.
The more time she spent with Malcolm, the more the presence of Alex blurred at the edges. What had once felt immediate and real now seemed distant, like a dream recalled too late in the day. His voice, his expressions, the emotions tied to him—all of it began to soften, as though the memory itself was retreating.

And that frightened her.

Was she imagining things all along? Has Alex been nothing more than a creation of her fractured mind? A defense, perhaps—something conjured in pain?

But how could imagination feel so vivid?
How could something unreal carry the weight of lived experience? How could it feel like a memory—complete with warmth, loss, and longing—as though it had once breathed and existed beside her?
These questions followed her relentlessly, echoing in the quiet corridors of Mandes Estate, where answers seemed just out of reach.

No matter how demanding his schedule became, Malcolm never failed to call Luna in the afternoon. It was never a hurried formality. He asked her how she was feeling, whether she had eaten properly, taken her medicines on time. He wanted to know about the physiotherapy—whether it had been tiring—and if she had gone for a walk as advised. Each question carried quiet concern, as though the rest of the world could wait until he was assured she was well.

Luna began to notice the contrast. When Malcolm spoke to others, his calls were brisk, almost ruthless. He rarely listened for long, said what he needed to say, and disconnected without ceremony. Efficiency ruled those conversations. But when he spoke to her, something in him softened entirely. His impatience dissolved, replaced by an attentiveness that felt almost sacred—as if he were a monk who had spent years cultivating patience, saving it for moments like these.

To the world, Malcolm Mandes was a formidable presence—a big bad wolf in tailored suits, feared and respected in equal measure. People measured their words carefully around him. Yet with his Tia, that image fell away. He became something entirely different: a love-struck little puppy, earnest and gentle, never once lacking warmth or understanding.

Since coming to Mandes Estate, Luna had begun to see Malcolm in a new light. Not the man described in headlines or whispered about in boardrooms, but the one who paused his relentless world each afternoon just to make sure she had eaten, walked, and was not alone.

And that realization unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Luna now finds herself waiting for their nightly ritual—the quiet dinners followed by an unhurried walk through Malcolm’s mother’s secret rose garden. As evening settled over Mandes Estate, it was the one part of the day she anticipated without resistance, even as she questioned herself for doing so.

The first time Malcolm had taken her there, she had been left speechless. Rows of white roses bloomed under the soft glow of hidden lights, their fragrance lingering gently in the night air. For a fleeting moment, the sight had stirred something painfully familiar. It reminded her of time spent with Alex—of laughter that felt distant now, of emotions she wasn’t sure she was allowed to remember.

But when Malcolm began to speak about his mother, the memory loosened its hold.

His voice softened as he told her how the garden had been her sanctuary, how she had tended every rose with quiet devotion. In his eyes, Luna saw a bittersweet reflection—grief and gratitude entwined, love that had never faded. She found herself drawn not just to his words, but to the way he spoke them, as though every sentence carried something he had held within for years.

He told her about his childhood nights—how his parents, without fail, would bring him here after dinner. The three of them would walk slowly among the roses, talking about nothing and everything. And how,  he had imagined bringing her here one day… to continue the same tradition.

The admission weighed heavily on her.

She felt the burden of it settling quietly in her chest, but she could not bring herself to deny him that wish. Not after all he had done for her. Not when his desire was expressed so gently, without demand or expectation.

Amid the chaos of her thoughts, Malcolm had become her constant calm. In the storm raging inside her mind, he was steady ground. He listened when she faltered, stayed when she withdrew, and never once asked her to be more than she could manage.

In many ways she did not fully understand, he had become her only friend.

And that realization frightened her just as much as it comforted her.