Lady Sara felt the shift in the room like a sudden gust of cold wind. The air around Lucas grew heavy, his expression sharp and unreadable. She had felt this aura before—the dangerous calm before a storm. The Lord of Havethrone hated uninvited guests in his home, everyone knew that. But after that one night they had shared, she'd convinced herself she held a special place in his heart. She thought she had earned the right to come and go as she pleased.
Clearly, she was wrong.
"I'm sorry, milord," Sara said sweetly, bowing lower than necessary so that her chest dipped forward suggestively. "My father asked me to personally deliver the document."
Lucas didn't spare her a single glance.
"Lionel," he called coolly.
The butler approached just then, the first aid box in hand.
"Yes, Master?" he asked.
"Take the document. Leave it in my study. I'll review it later—"
"But milord," Lady Sara interrupted, her tone suddenly more insistent, "my father was quite clear. He said we should review it together."
She placed a heavy emphasis on the last word, letting it hang in the air like perfume—cloying and obvious.
Evie, who had been silently observing the exchange, tilted her head. It was clear the woman was trying to maneuver Lucas into a private meeting. With a half-smile and a raised brow, she spoke before Lucas could respond.
"It's alright, Lucas. You can go review the document together with the lady," she said, her tone lined with cool sarcasm. "I'll wait for you in your piano room."
It was only then that Lady Sara seemed to notice her. She turned slowly, her eyes landing on Evie like daggers. The use of the Lord's first name—Lucas—and the casual mention of his private piano room sent a spark of rage through her veins.
Who was this girl?
Sara's lips curled slightly, but not into a smile. She saw Evie now—not as a guest, not as a stranger, but as a rival. Lucas had taken many women to bed over the years, but only a few had been seen repeatedly at his side. Sara was one of them. She had attended his parties, laughed at his wit, even paid for rumors to be whispered through the noble houses: that the Lord loved her. That they were a perfect match. That she would soon be Lady Havethrone.
But all those dreams now felt like glass cracking beneath her feet.
"No," Lucas said, his voice flat and unyielding. "Lady Sara was not invited to my home, and as far as I can tell, she has no pressing business that requires my time."
He took the box from Lionel himself and turned to Sara with thinly veiled contempt.
"You will not enter this mansion again without a formal invitation. Lionel, escort her out."
And just like that, he turned his back on her, leading Evie down the hall without so much as a second glance.
Behind them, Sara stood frozen, humiliated. Her long nails curled into her palms until the skin broke, but she didn't flinch. Her red eyes glowed faintly as anger surged through her. A lowly human had ruined everything.
Lionel remained still as ever, but there was something steely in his gaze.
"Milady," he said, expression unreadable, "you need to leave now. Or I'll be forced to summon the guards."
Sara didn't move.
He leaned slightly closer. "The Lord allowed you to live in your fantasy. I suggest you leave before you turn it into a nightmare."
Sara clenched her jaw and finally stormed off, her heels clacking against the polished floor like tiny thunderclaps.
---
In the quiet of the piano room, Evie sat on the velvet couch while Lucas settled beside her, placing the first aid kit on a small table. He untied the makeshift bandage around her arm carefully.
His brow furrowed.
Evie noticed the change in his expression and looked down at her injury.
Or rather, where it should've been.
The skin was smooth—completely healed. The purple bruising was gone, the cut had vanished, and even the tenderness she'd felt earlier had disappeared.
She stared, frowning. "Is this supposed to happen? Did I get infected with something? A Morphem's poison or…?"
Lucas shook his head slowly, just as puzzled. He removed his gloves and gently traced the spot where the wound had been. Her blood flowed normally, warm beneath his fingertips.
"No," he said. "It's not poison. If it were, your veins would be constricted, your blood flow slow. But… there's nothing. The wound didn't just heal—it vanished. As if it was never there."
Evie touched her arm and pressed lightly. No pain.
"It's healed," Lucas said quietly, more to himself than to her.
"But how is that possible?" she asked, eyes wide. "It's not normal. I'm human."
Lucas leaned back slightly, his mind already racing. "Humans don't heal like this. Not unless they have traces of something else—witch blood, vampire blood, maybe even lycanthropy."
Evie blinked. "I'm fully human. My grandma, my grandfather, my father… all of them are human."
Lucas's gaze sharpened. "And your mother?"
Evie stiffened.
She didn't like talking about her mother. That woman was a mystery and a wound all at once.
"She died when I was born," Evie said, her voice quiet now. "I never knew her. My father blamed me for her death. Said I killed her just by being born. He left me with my grandma when I was barely old enough to walk."
Lucas listened in silence, his eyes unreadable.
"She must've been human," Evie added, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him. "She died in childbirth. Only a human could be that… weak."
Lucas didn't interrupt. Instead, he asked softly, "Did your grandmother ever say anything strange about her?"
Evie hesitated.
"She never spoke kindly of her. Never talked about her at all, really. But once… I overheard her whisper something to herself. She said, 'Why does she look so much like her?' I think she meant my mother. She didn't say it with fondness."
Her eyes welled up with unshed tears, and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling.
Lucas saw the sorrow flicker across her face—the quiet ache of someone who had never known a parent's love. Carefully, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, cradling her gently.
"Sometimes," he said softly near her ear, "letting the tears fall is the only way the heart finds peace. You don't have to hold it in."
Evie didn't respond with words.
She simply let go.
For the first time in years, she allowed herself to cry—not out of weakness, but out of exhaustion. She cried for every birthday her father had ignored, for every letter that went unanswered, for the version of love she'd only ever imagined.
Lucas held her quietly, his arms strong and steady.
And for a while, neither of them said anything.
But in that silence, something between them changed.