The garden stretched wide behind the ancient stone walls of the hunting grounds, wilder than the curated landscapes of city hotels, yet touched with refinement -- a curated wilderness where roses tangled with ivy, and the air smelled faintly of damp moss and ash from the torches planted along the winding paths. The group had dispersed into smaller pockets after Evelyn, ever the hostess, had insisted everyone stretch their legs before the next planned activity.
It was here, beneath the lantern-lit arbor of the hunting garden, that Logan finally found his chance.
He had been circling the fringes of the evening, dark eyes sharp, his restless hands in his pockets. Every glance he cast across the garden fell on her -- the girl who moved like a shadow and a flame at once. Maya. Or rather, Isla, the name she wore now like a mask that both shielded her and tied her close to Damien's side.
She didn't falter in the role. Her laugh fell easily when Damien leaned close; her hand rested delicately on his sleeve as if it belonged there. Anyone watching would see nothing but a couple comfortable in their private world. Anyone but Logan.
When he finally caught her alone -- just at the curve of the hedge where the torches flickered lower -- he moved fast, cutting off her path. His voice, low and edged with something raw, curled into her ear.
"Maya."
Her steps stilled, but she didn't look at him. Not fully. She kept her chin tilted, eyes scanning the garden as if the darkness beyond the roses held more interest than the man before her.
"You shouldn't say that name here," she murmured. "It doesn't belong."
He leaned closer, desperate enough to risk proximity. "You can pretend with them, wear whatever mask Damien gives you, but I see you. You can't make me believe you're his."
Her lips curved -- not in warmth but in a measured smile that cut sharper than refusal. She finally let her eyes meet his, cool and unshaken. "Believe what you want, Logan. I'm exactly where I should be."
He flinched at the restraint in her tone. Once, her voice had tripped over his name, soft and wanting. Now it was steel.
"Stop this," he pressed, his hand almost reaching for her wrist before he caught himself. "You don't belong to him. You..."
"Enough." Her word was hushed but firm, a dagger slid between ribs. She shifted slightly, steps angled away, making sure no one watching from afar could mistake their exchange for anything more than a polite pause. "Whatever I was before doesn't matter. Tonight, I am Damien's. And tomorrow, too."
The garden's silence pressed in, broken only by the faint laughter of others echoing across the hedges. Logan swallowed, desperation darkening his gaze. "You think you can just erase it? Erase us?"
"There's nothing to erase," she said. Then, softer, crueler in its calmness: "You already did that yourself."
She left him with that, gliding past like the brush of smoke that lingers after fire. Logan's chest tightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He didn't follow her. He couldn't. She was gone before he could draw another breath, back to Damien's side, her smile flawless, untouchable.
And Logan, for the first time, looked small in the great expanse of the garden.
The following morning brought a shift in energy. Evelyn, delighted by the chance to display her flair, had arranged games and activities across the hunting grounds, each designed to pit couples against each other in playful rivalry. The others -- some paired by affection, some by convenience -- spilled into the fields with laughter and anticipation.
Damien and Maya -- Damien and Isla -- stepped forward into the circle of the first game. It was one of those traditional challenges Evelyn claimed added "charm and history" to the retreat: a relay with archery at its center.
Maya felt the weight of eyes on her as Damien guided her hand, steadying her grip on the bow. His touch was careful, protective in its restraint, but she caught the flicker of pride when she loosed her first arrow and it struck near the target. She let herself smile -- just enough.
"You're better than you think," Damien murmured, low enough for only her.
"I learn fast," she returned smoothly, though a flicker of warmth sparked in her chest at the approval. It was part of the act, yes, but it wasn't entirely an act anymore. The way his gaze softened when he looked at her was something she hadn't expected. Something dangerous.
As the rounds continued, the energy between them shifted. They moved with an ease that others noticed: his subtle encouragement, her responsive confidence. Laughter bubbled between them as naturally as if it had always belonged. By the time they landed second place in the challenge, Evelyn's sharp eyes had narrowed, studying them more closely than before.
There was something different in the way Damien looked at Maya. And something dangerous in the way Maya -- without ever breaking character -- responded.
The next game required groups of four. Evelyn paired them deliberately, her smile a mask too smooth to be entirely benign.
"Isla and Damien," she announced, "you'll be with Brielle and Logan."
The subtle pause in the air was almost invisible, but Maya felt it. Brielle's sharp gaze flicked to her with unmistakable intent.
The challenge was simple on the surface: a treasure hunt through the sprawling gardens. Each group had to work together to find three marked tokens, hidden in difficult places. But beneath the surface, it was a perfect setup for tension.
They began together, moving past fountains and ivy-covered statues. Damien naturally took the lead, scanning the grounds, his hand brushing the small of Maya's back to guide her around uneven stone steps. She followed easily, their rhythm smooth, unspoken.
Brielle, however, bristled. Her comments came sharp, barbed in casual tones. "Interesting how quickly you've gotten comfortable in this little role, Isla."
Maya only smiled faintly, refusing to rise. "Maybe I'm just a natural."
The first token was found near the base of a fountain, and Damien handed it to Maya with a quiet, "Keep this safe." It was such a small gesture, but Brielle's narrowed eyes caught it all.
By the second token -- retrieved from the branches of a low oak -- Brielle's patience frayed. She deliberately brushed past Maya, her voice pitched low so only she could hear. "Careful how tightly you cling. Not every mask stays in place forever."
Maya turned her head just slightly, meeting Brielle's gaze with quiet defiance. "Maybe. But sometimes a mask fits better than the face beneath."
The words landed like a spark in dry grass.
By the time they reached the final stretch of the hunt, tension snapped taut between the two women. The others were aware of it -- Damien most of all -- but Evelyn, watching from the distance with keen satisfaction, had wanted exactly this.
The last token lay hidden beneath a stone bench, and it was Maya who spotted it. She bent to retrieve it, but Brielle moved at the same time, their hands colliding.
The air stilled.
Maya didn't jerk away. She simply straightened slowly, the token in her grip, her eyes locked with Brielle's. Her smile was polite. Perfect. And sharp enough to draw blood.
For a moment, neither moved. Neither spoke. But the unspoken conflict burned hot, bright enough that those watching from afar knew something had shifted. Something inevitable.
And Evelyn, observing with quiet triumph, knew the night ahead would not end quietly.