The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the Moreau estate, casting golden light on the antique oak floors. It was quiet—eerily so—just the way Elijah Moreau preferred when he needed to think.

He stood by the fireplace in the sitting room, a half-full coffee cup in one hand and an old photo in the other. He stared at it for a long moment—two children, hand-in-hand, grinning with carefree joy. Himself, and Evelyn.

The butler entered soundlessly.

"Sir, Madam Isobel Valare-Hale has arrived."

Elijah turned, nodding. "Show her in."

A few moments later, Isobel stepped in with her usual elegance. Dressed in a soft gray coat, hair neatly pinned, she looked every bit the poised woman she'd always been. But her eyes, deep and sharp, betrayed emotion—something more than mere pleasantries.

"Elijah," she said, her voice smooth. "You've grown even more like your father. Same spine, same gaze."

He offered a tight smile. "And you haven't aged a day, Isobel."

She let out a soft laugh and took the seat he gestured to.

They spoke briefly of trivial things—his recent investment in an art gallery, a new book she was reading. But after a minute, the silence turned heavier.

Isobel sat forward, folding her hands. "I didn’t just come to catch up."

"I assumed as much."

"I came... to talk about Valentine. And Evelyn."

His brow lifted slightly. "You’re serious?"

"Yes. I know the engagement was broken when Elias and I divorced, and I didn’t push it back then. It wouldn’t have been right. But now..." She paused. "Valentine has built himself from the ground up. And he’s still holding onto her."

Elijah’s eyes narrowed. "Still?"

"He never let go. Even when we thought he had. He’s quiet about it, always has been, but I see it."

Elijah leaned back in his seat, absorbing her words. Valentine Valare. Stoic, composed... but always lingering near Evelyn during those old family parties. Watching. Never speaking much.

He took a slow sip of coffee. "And Evelyn knows nothing."

"Nothing. And I want to keep it that way. This should be her choice, Elijah—not because she feels indebted or manipulated."

He nodded silently. Valentine. Of all people. Still holding onto her after all these years...

"So you're asking me to propose the arrangement again."

"Yes. Let her decide freely. I believe she'll say yes, if only to try something new."

He stood, pacing toward the fireplace again. The photo of Evelyn as a girl caught his eye. She’s grown up so strong. But maybe, just maybe... she doesn’t need to do it alone anymore.

"I’ll speak to her."

Later that evening, Evelyn was curled up on the window seat of the upstairs library, a novel open in her lap. She looked up as her brother entered.

"You’ve been quiet all day."

"Had some unexpected company."

She raised a brow. "Who?"

"Isobel Valare."

That made her straighten. "Valentine’s mother?"

"Yes. She came to talk about reviving the engagement."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

"The one our grandparents arranged?"

"The same. She said now that things have settled, she wanted to offer it again. As a possibility."

Evelyn closed the book gently. Valentine... It’s been years since I last saw him. I barely know who he is anymore.

"That’s... random."

"Not entirely. We’ve known each other’s families forever. And frankly, Evelyn, you haven’t seemed truly happy in a long time."

She frowned at him. "So this is about me being lonely?"

"No." He softened. "It’s about you not being alone if you don’t want to be. This marriage wouldn’t be for politics. Just a choice between two people who already have history."

I remember him in the garden... always standing by the wall, so silent. But he never looked away when I passed by.

Still, this wasn’t about romance. Not to her.

"What about Valentine? Did he agree to this?"

"Yes. He’s open to it."

"And you're okay with this?"

"I wouldn’t bring it to you if I wasn’t."

She bit her lip, looking out the window. The garden below was blooming, a soft wind ruffling the tall lavender stalks.

Can I picture a life with him?

It wasn’t a whirlwind. It wasn’t a fairy tale. But maybe it didn’t have to be.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll meet him. I’ll give this marriage a chance."

Valentine Valare stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks. The city below sparkled with streetlights and passing cars. But all he could see was the ghost of her smile.

His phone buzzed once.

"She agreed."

—Theo

He didn’t reply right away. His chest was tight, filled with something between awe and disbelief.

She said yes...

Behind him, Theo stepped in. The ever-efficient PA adjusted his glasses and spoke calmly.

"Elijah called to confirm. They’ll reach out tomorrow about the formal dinner."

Valentine nodded once.

"Thank you."

"You alright?"

"Yes."

But his heart thundered. He walked to his desk, where a worn photograph rested in a drawer. A young Evelyn, laughing at a summer party, a ribbon slipping from her hair.

You don’t remember the way you looked that day. But I never forgot.

He placed the photo back, closing the drawer.

You don’t know what you mean to me. And that’s fine. You don’t need to.

Just let me stand beside you this time.

Evelyn couldn’t sleep.

She lay on her side, fingers curled around the edge of her pillow, staring at the glow of the moonlight pooling on the floor.

Her thoughts were tangled. She hadn’t thought of Valentine in years—not really. Not beyond the occasional social memory.

He used to watch from a distance. I always thought he was just shy. Or maybe indifferent.

She frowned softly.

But he agreed to this. He must want it too, in some way.

That didn’t mean anything more than a mutual willingness to try. She wasn’t naïve.

But still...

The idea of sitting across from him again felt surreal.

I’ll be respectful. I’ll be kind. I won’t pretend we’re in love. But I’ll give this a real chance.

Valentine sat in silence on his balcony, a single glass of wine untouched on the table beside him.

The stars above were dim compared to the storm within his mind.

He had always been patient. Always quiet.

Now she would stand beside him, not as a memory, but as his wife.

But she couldn’t know—not yet. He wouldn't burden her with what he’d carried alone all these years.

You don’t love me. You don’t even know me now.

But I know you. And I will wait, even in silence.

The Moreau estate glowed under soft evening lights as staff moved swiftly through the halls. The dining room had been set with fresh white lilies, silver cutlery, and a long mahogany table that gleamed under the chandeliers.

Evelyn stood in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting the pale blue silk gown Elijah had picked for her. It was elegant, slightly off-shoulder, and understated. Her hair was swept back into a loose twist, a few strands framing her face.

She let out a soft sigh, pressing her hands to her stomach.

It’s just dinner. Formal, polite, no pressure. Just two families reconnecting.

But why does it feel like a first date?

Her heart fluttered unexpectedly. She scolded herself for it and turned away just as Elijah entered her room.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply.

“You always say that when you’re nervous about something,” she replied, turning to him with a raised brow.

Elijah smirked. “Maybe. But tonight, I’m just your brother. Not the one who brokered this dinner.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Not exactly comforting, Eli.”

He stepped closer, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

“If anything feels wrong, you tell me. But I think... this might be good for you.”

She gave a slow nod. “I’ll be fine.”

Valentine arrived exactly on time.

He stepped out of the car dressed in tailored black, the faintest glint of silver at his cufflinks. He looked calm as ever—composed, distant—but when his eyes met Evelyn’s as she greeted him in the entry hall, something in him clenched.

She’s more breathtaking than I remembered.

God... keep it together.

“Valentine,” Elijah greeted warmly, pulling him into a half-embrace. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Valentine said, his voice low. “It’s good to be here.”

His gaze flicked to Evelyn, standing a few steps behind. Their eyes met, and for a second, time slowed.

“Evelyn,” he said softly.

“Valentine.”

Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled slightly at her sides. He noticed.

He offered her a small, respectful smile. She returned it, unsure of what to make of the strange tension simmering between them.

He’s... taller than I remembered. More refined.

Still quiet, still unreadable—but not indifferent. Definitely not indifferent.

Dinner began with quiet small talk. Elijah took the lead, discussing investments, art shows, and travel, while Evelyn responded here and there. Valentine listened more than he spoke, his eyes often drifting to Evelyn when she wasn’t looking.

“Your staff always outdoes themselves,” Valentine finally said, his voice cutting through the space with smooth precision. “This wine pairing is excellent.”

“It’s French,” Evelyn replied. “From the vineyard my mother once favored.”

Valentine’s eyes met hers for a moment longer than necessary.

“You remembered.”

Her lips parted slightly, surprised. “Of course. She had good taste.”

So do you, he almost said—but didn’t.

Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to her hand when she reached for her glass. The way her fingers held the stem... the light curve of her wrist...

He turned away quickly.

After dinner, Elijah excused himself with a wink, claiming he had a call from the East Coast.

That left Valentine and Evelyn alone in the candlelit room. She walked toward the terrace doors, pushing them open and stepping into the cool night air. The moon hung low, casting a glow over the trimmed hedges below.

Valentine followed her out quietly, keeping a respectful distance.

“It’s strange,” she murmured. “Being back in the same space after so long.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But not unwelcome.”

She turned to him slightly. “You always used to be... quiet. Distant.”

He didn’t deny it. “I observed more than I spoke.”

“Still do,” she noted, smiling faintly. “I used to think you didn’t like me much.”

His head tilted. “And now?”

She hesitated. Now I think you see more than you say. And that unsettles me.

“Now I think you’re hard to read.”

A brief silence.

“And what do you think you’d find, if you read me?” he asked, stepping just a little closer.

Her breath caught at the unexpected weight in his words.

She turned her gaze back toward the garden. “Not sure yet. But I suppose I’ll find out if we marry.”

His jaw tightened subtly. The casual tone in her voice—like this was still theoretical—stabbed him in ways he hadn’t prepared for.

You’re here. Talking to me. Wearing silk I can barely stop looking at. And you still don’t see it.

Still, he said nothing.

“I want to be a good wife,” she said after a pause. “Not just for appearances. If we do this, I want it to be real. I just don’t know how real this can be when we barely know each other anymore.”

Valentine’s voice dropped lower.

“Then let’s start again.”

She turned toward him, surprised.

“Start what again?”

“Knowing each other.”

The air between them grew warmer, heavier.

She could see it now—behind his stillness, there was something deeper. Something smoldering, restrained only by the finest thread.

He wants this. Maybe more than I thought.

But still... no declaration. No pressure.

Just... presence.

It unsettled her more than any love confession ever could.

Later, Valentine sat in the back seat of his car, eyes on the road ahead but mind fixed on her.

She said she wants this to be real.

She doesn’t know she already is my reality.

His fingers curled into a fist on his thigh.

He had held back tonight. Bitten down every instinct to touch her, protect her, claim her.

But that would come in time.

He could wait... just a little longer.

I’ll make you feel wanted, Evelyn.

But not until you’re ready.

Back at the estate, Evelyn removed her earrings, watching her reflection in the mirror.

Her cheeks were faintly flushed. Her eyes distant.

He looked at me like he wanted to say something all night. Like he knew something I didn’t.

But I don’t feel afraid. I feel...

She couldn’t name it.

Not yet.

But she knew one thing.

Tonight, Valentine Valare had made her feel seen.

And somehow, that terrified her more than anything.

The soft hum of tires against cobblestone filled the silence as Valentine’s car pulled into the private entrance of the Bellamont Vineyard. Nestled on the outskirts of the city, it was a place most people didn’t even know existed—elegant, quiet, and dripping with old-world charm.

Valentine stepped out first, his tall figure dressed in charcoal slacks and a pale grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up, effortlessly refined. He walked around the car and opened the door for Evelyn.

Her hand slipped into his as she stepped out, the contact brief but warm. She wore a flowy, floral midi dress paired with cream sandals and minimal makeup—fresh and simple, yet stunning.

“I didn’t know vineyards could be this quiet,” she murmured, glancing around at the rolling green hills. The breeze lifted a few strands of her hair.

“It’s privately owned. No tourists,” he replied. “I thought you might like something peaceful.”

He remembers I hate crowds.

“You were right,” she admitted, folding her arms gently over her chest. “This is... nice.”

He offered a small smile. “Let’s walk.”

The gravel path wound between rows of grapevines, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Birds chirped from nearby trees, and the only other human in sight was the distant figure of a caretaker tending vines.

“How did you even find this place?” Evelyn asked, her voice relaxed now.

“My mother brought me here once,” he said. “Back when things were simpler.”

Her steps slowed. “Before the divorce?”

He nodded once. “She said this was her escape.”

Evelyn glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on the vineyard, but his voice held something deeper—nostalgia, maybe. Or pain, carefully hidden.

He doesn’t talk about the past easily.

But with me, he does.

They reached a small sitting area—an old stone bench under a blooming wisteria arch. The scent was sweet and calming.

He gestured. “Sit?”

She nodded, and they both took their place, the air between them charged but quiet.

“Why now?” she asked suddenly.

He turned toward her, brow slightly furrowed. “Why what?”

“Why agree to this marriage?”

There it was. Direct. Honest.

Valentine paused.

Because I’ve loved you since I was too young to understand the word. Because you’ve always been the reason I tried to be more than I was.

But aloud, he said calmly, “Because I wanted to see if something good could come back around.”

She tilted her head, watching him. “You always say things like that. Half a truth.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Would you believe the full one if I said it?”

She hesitated. No... I wouldn’t know what to do with it.

Instead, she gave a small smile. “Maybe one day.”

Later, a private wine tasting was arranged in the vineyard’s cellar. Candlelight danced off the stone walls as the sommelier poured a deep red into their glasses and quietly stepped away.

Evelyn swirled her glass slowly. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Valentine’s eyes held hers. “Do I need to?”

She laughed lightly, lowering the glass. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Only with you.”

Her heart skipped, and she looked away quickly.

Why does he say things like that? It feels like flirting—but it’s not playful. It’s sincere. Dangerous.

They tasted the wine slowly, and time passed unnoticed. At some point, Evelyn turned slightly, resting her elbow on the table.

“You’re not like I imagined you’d be.”

“No?”

“I thought you’d be cold. Unreachable. But you’re... gentle. Strange, but gentle.”

Valentine watched her, his throat tightening. Her voice, the way her lips curled when she teased him—it was all too much and yet not enough.

“You see more than most.”

Even if you don’t see the whole truth.

She looked down at her hands. “Do you want this marriage to work?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

She looked up.

“Even if we’re starting from zero?”

He reached forward, just slightly—his hand grazing hers. Warm. Careful.

“Especially then.”

Their eyes locked again, and Evelyn couldn’t breathe for a second.

The tension hung between them, rich and unspoken.

On the ride back, silence took on a new meaning.

Evelyn leaned against the window, watching the dusky hills roll by. Her heart felt full but confused.

He’s kind. Considerate. Safe.

But he looks at me like I belong to him. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

She glanced sideways. Valentine’s hands were on the steering wheel, steady and calm. But his jaw was tense, his focus sharp.

“You’re quiet,” she said softly.

“So are you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He finally glanced at her, then back at the road.

“I’m trying not to want too much too soon.”

Her breath caught again.

She turned fully in her seat, staring at him.

“Want what?”

He didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because if he said it now, it would be too much.

So he gave her something gentler instead.

“A real beginning.”

When they arrived back at the Moreau estate, Elijah was waiting in the hallway with a smug grin.

“Well?” he asked.

Evelyn brushed past him with flushed cheeks. “Ask me tomorrow.”

She disappeared upstairs, her footsteps echoing.

Valentine moved past him in silence.

“You didn’t tell her,” Elijah noted under his breath.

“Not yet.”

“You planning to?”

Valentine glanced up the stairs.

“Only when she’s ready to hear it.”

In her room, Evelyn stared at herself in the mirror.

Her lips were slightly parted. Her cheeks still warm.

She touched her wrist where his hand had brushed hers hours ago, feeling it all over again.

He didn’t try to kiss me. Didn’t say anything outrageous. But somehow, it still felt... like more.

I think he really wants this.

And, strangely enough...

I think I might want it too.