The maids whispered behind their hands when they thought she couldn't hear.
"Her engagement is as good as dead."
"Did you see the Duke's face when he left?"
"No wonder her father won't visit."
Alesia stood at the top of the staircase, her nails digging into the banister. They weren't wrong.
The Duke's rejection had sent ripples through the household. Servants who once scrambled to please her now moved sluggishly, their eyes sliding away when she passed.
Only one maid met her gaze—Lira, the girl who'd brought the peppermint tea.
"My lady," she murmured, offering a steaming cup. "To settle your nerves."
Alesia took it, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers.
"You presume I have nerves."
Lira didn't flinch. "My mistake."
[New Ally: "Lira (Maid) – Loyalty 65%"]
The gardens were the only place the whispers didn't follow.
Alesia walked the overgrown paths, her skirts catching on brambles. The estate's neglect was showing—just like her fading influence.
Then she saw him.
The gardener knelt among the roses, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, dirt smudged across his forearms. He didn't bow as she approached.
"You're trampling the lavender," he said instead.
She looked down. Sure enough, purple blossoms lay crushed under her heel.
"It's my lavender."
"And yet it's the one thing here that still smells sweet." His voice was light, but his eyes—gold-flecked and too knowing—held hers a beat too long.
She should've reprimanded him.
Instead, she stepped carefully around the plants.
He worked in silence after that, pruning dead branches with quick, precise cuts.
Alesia watched, unnerved by his lack of fear.
"You're new."
"I am."
"Your name?"
He snipped a thorned vine. "Does it matter?"
A breeze stirred the leaves between them, carrying the scent of rain and turned earth.
For the first time in days, no one was lying to her.
It was almost refreshing.
At dinner, the cook "forgot" to remove the fish bones—a petty insult.
Alesia ate around them, her jaw clenched.
Lira appeared silently, replacing the plate with a fresh one. "The kitchen will be disciplined."
"No." Alesia's smile was thin. "Let them think they've won."
Weakness invited attack, yes—but it also made enemies careless.
She'd remember every slight.
That night, a single white gardenia appeared on her windowsill.
No note. Only the faint imprint of dirt on the sill where someone had climbed up.
Alesia pressed the bloom to her nose, its sweetness cloying.
"Stupid man," she muttered.
But she placed it in water anyway.
[Stress Levels: 85% → 72%]