The engagement ring feels heavy on your finger as you stare out the bay window of your chamber. Moonstone Mansion looms around you like a gilded prison, its Renaissance architecture beautiful yet oppressive in the fading afternoon light. The scent of lilacs drifts in from the garden below, a cruel reminder of the freedom you once hoped to have.

Three days have passed since your engagement to Julius was abruptly annulled. No explanation was given to the Valenmoor family beyond a terse letter from your father's solicitor. You weren't consulted—you learned of it when the family carriage arrived to retrieve your trousseau, servants loading trunks while casting sympathetic glances your way.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts. Before you can respond, the door opens silently. Raymond stands in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the hallway light. His white hair is perfectly styled, violet eyes unreadable behind round-framed glasses. He wears his customary white suit with silver embroidery, gloves stretching over aristocratic hands that have never known manual labor.

"You haven't joined the household for dinner in three days," he observes, his voice smooth as polished marble. No trace of concern—simply stating a fact.

The fire in the hearth pops, casting shadows across his face as he steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. You notice how he moves with deliberate precision, each step calculated, controlled—like a predator circling prey without appearing threatening.

"I wasn't hungry," you reply, keeping your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. You set your jaw, determined not to show weakness.

Raymond crosses the room slowly, the floorboards silent beneath his feet. The air seems to thicken with his presence, the temperature dropping subtly as he approaches. You catch the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something sharper, like crushed violet stems.

He stops beside you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of your dress. His gaze turns outward to the garden, where the last of the day's sunlight gilds the hedges shaped into mythical creatures.

"The gardeners have planted your favorite roses along the east wall," he says, still looking outside. "The white ones you mentioned to Cook last spring."