The courtyard was alive with murmurs. Students clustered along the stone steps, voices carrying easily in the crisp autumn air.

“If it were me, I’d never come back.”
“Well… ten years is a long time. Perhaps Lord Edmund simply wanted something else.”
“Lady Lillian is darling. So much sweeter than Lady Valmont.”

Lucian let the chatter pass him by. His lips curved in the gentle smile expected of him, though his thoughts strayed elsewhere.

That engagement had been forged when they were children. Both houses had sacrificed, shaping their futures around it. And Edmund ended it so publicly—without respect, without consideration. To humiliate her before everyone… That was neither the way of a noble, nor the way of a man.

His gaze slid across the courtyard to Lady Emilia Valmont. She stood poised, back straight, face unreadable as ever. Cold, they called her. Difficult, unapproachable. Perhaps she was not bright and cheerful. Yet she had borne her role dutifully, striving to be worthy of her station. She did not deserve this.

The voices wove on, thin and persistent, like gnats. He dismissed them. Gossip had been his companion since childhood; he met it always with the same serene mask.

Then—

“Mia!”

The shout cut across the courtyard. Too loud. Too familiar.

Lucian’s head turned at once.

A hush fell. Even the gossip stilled. The beat of his own heart sounded loud in his ears: dud… dud-dud… dud.

Lady Valmont’s composure fractured. Her eyes lit, her steps quickened into a run. She crossed the marble path, skirts lifted lightly, and went straight into the arms of the young man who had called to her.

He caught her as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And she—

She smiled.

Her whole face transformed. Breathless from running, cheeks flushed, lips parted in joy. Her eyes curved like crescents, her maroon hair backlit until each strand burned like fire in the sun.

For that moment, she seemed like someone else entirely.

The hush broke.

“Improper.”
“Clinging to commoners.”

But some voices carried hesitation.

“Did you see—Lady Valmont smiled?”
“I’ve never seen her smile before.”

Lucian’s mask did not falter. He answered politely when Etienne spoke beside him, though his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

He called her Mia. Not even Emilia. Not Lady Valmont. A nickname. She seemed used to it, comfortable with him.

Who is he? Who are they to her?

The boy set her down. A girl joined them, tugging Emilia’s hand. The three spoke together easily, as though the crowd had vanished.

Lucian turned back to his companions, expression untroubled. Yet the image pressed against him still—Emilia Valmont, flushed and breathless, smiling as if nothing in the world had been taken from her.