chapter 2

The morning after the ball, the Blackwell estate was abuzz with hushed gossip about the scandalous Kara Winter. A woman who rode a motorcycle, wore trousers, and openly defied the very structure upon which society stood—it was a horror to some, a fascination to others. But to Damien Blackwell, it was nothing but a nuisance.

Seated in his study, Damien adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses as he read the morning paper. The world was as it always had been—predictable, structured, orderly. Yet his mind kept straying back to the previous night, to the sharp blue eyes that had challenged him without hesitation. The woman had been a thorn in his side from the moment she walked into his life, and the worst part? She didn’t even try to hide her amusement over it.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," Damien called out, folding the newspaper neatly before setting it aside.

The door creaked open, and his younger sister, Eleanor, stepped inside, her expression carefully neutral. "You seem troubled, brother."

"I am not troubled," he replied curtly.

She raised an elegant brow. "No? Then why have you read the same page thrice?"

Damien exhaled slowly. "If you have something to say, Eleanor, say it."

She smirked and perched herself on the armrest of his chair. "You are not the only one speaking of Miss Winter this morning. The entire town is scandalized. A woman of her nature, openly ridiculing men of stature, questioning the very foundation of our values?" She sighed dramatically. "It is unheard of."

"Yes, and yet here we are, still discussing her," Damien muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Eleanor tilted her head. "Do you despise her, Damien, or does she unsettle you?"

"She is reckless. Rebellion for the sake of rebellion. That is all."

Eleanor laughed lightly. "Oh, dear brother, I think you misunderstand her entirely."

Across town, Kara Winter sat at a small café, stirring her tea absentmindedly. The whispers of nearby women didn’t escape her notice. Their judgmental glances, their hushed tones—it was nothing new.

"Such an unladylike thing… riding that monstrous machine."

"She should be married by now, tending to a home, not gallivanting like some common rogue."

Kara smiled to herself. If these women had any idea of what true freedom felt like, they wouldn’t be so quick to trade it for servitude. In the 19th century, a woman’s worth was measured not by her mind or ambitions, but by her ability to be an obedient wife and mother. They were expected to be ornaments, charming and graceful, their existence meant to complement a man’s life rather than build their own.

She had been raised to be that way—to smile when spoken to, to nod when a man made a statement, to be soft and delicate, always pleasing, never questioning. But that had never been enough for her.

“Kara,” a voice cut through her thoughts.

She turned, unsurprised to see Lord Pembroke sliding into the seat across from her. The aging nobleman had a fondness for keeping tabs on her whereabouts. He sighed dramatically. “You do enjoy causing a stir, don’t you?”

Kara lifted a brow. "If by ‘stir,’ you mean daring to exist outside of a cage, then yes, I suppose I do."

Pembroke chuckled. "And yet, you wonder why men like Damien Blackwell find you insufferable."

At the mention of his name, Kara scoffed. "The esteemed Professor Blackwell? Oh, I do hope his delicate sensibilities survived our little conversation."

Pembroke leaned in. "You’ve rattled him. Not many can say they have. But be careful, Kara. Men like him do not appreciate defiance."

She smirked. "And I do not appreciate control."

That afternoon, Kara found herself at the university’s grand library, an unexpected destination for someone like her. She had no love for academic constraints, yet something had drawn her here. Perhaps curiosity, perhaps mischief.

And there, standing by the tall bookshelves, was Damien Blackwell.

He noticed her immediately, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “Miss Winter.”

Kara grinned. “Professor Blackwell.”

Damien closed his book with a quiet snap. “I find it amusing that you mock intellectual pursuits, yet here you are.”

“I mock nothing,” she replied, stepping closer. “I simply do not see the point in memorizing words written by men who fear change.”

He exhaled slowly. "There is structure in knowledge, Miss Winter. Without discipline, society crumbles."

She tilted her head, her silky auburn hair cascading over her shoulder. “And yet, without defiance, society stagnates. Tell me, Professor, do you ever question the rules you uphold so dearly?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, and Kara saw it—the flicker of doubt, the momentary lapse in his ironclad resolve. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Rules exist for a reason,” he stated firmly.

Kara smirked. “And so do people like me—to remind men like you that rules are meant to be broken.”

For the first time since they had met, Damien found himself at a loss for words. And that, perhaps, was the most unsettling part of all.

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