EVELINA
Evelina's breath came sharp against the cool air as she slipped through the marble corridor. The hum of the ballroom faded behind her, swallowed by the weight of silence. Her heels struck softly against the stone, the sound uneven as she reached the terrace doors.
She pushed them open and stepped into the garden. The night air hit her skin, cool and damp, carrying the scent of roses and wet earth. The lamps that lined the path cast small pools of gold against the gravel. Everything else lay dark.
Her hands trembled. She pressed them together, trying to steady them. The music inside drifted faintly through the windows, a waltz that no longer belonged to her world. Her throat felt tight, her chest aching with the remains of fear and shame she refused to name.
She walked further, away from the light. The skirts of her gown brushed the trimmed hedges. She stopped beneath an arch of vines, the leaves swaying slightly with the breeze.
Her breath came slower now, though her heart still pounded. She could still feel the press of the men's hands, the ring of their laughter, the cruel glint in Selina's eyes. Her composure had cracked, even for a moment, and the thought of it burned her from within.
"Evee."
The voice came from behind her.
She turned at once. Lucian stood at the edge of the path, half in shadow, half in light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes searched her face with quiet urgency.
Evelina's lips parted. She wanted to speak, to tell him she was fine, that it was over, but no words came. Her voice failed her.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Are you okay, why are you here alone?"
Her chin lifted slightly, an instinctive guard. "I needed air."
He stopped a few steps away, close enough for her to see the faint tension in his jaw. "You should never have had to walk alone."
"I'm fine, I handled it," she said softly. "Or I thought I did."
Lucian looked at her, the flicker of pain crossing his face too quick to catch. "You should not have needed to."
The words landed heavier than she expected. For a moment, she could not look at him. Her hand went to her arm, rubbing the place where one of the men's fingers had pressed too hard. She winced without meaning to.
Lucian's voice dropped lower. "Did someone hurt you?"
Evelina shook her head, though her eyes shone. "No. Only frightened me."
The space between them grew still. The only sound was the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of the ballroom beyond.
Lucian took another step closer. He reached out, hesitated, then brushed a stray curl from her shoulder. "You are shaking."
She laughed softly, though it broke halfway. "Am I?"
He nodded once. "You are."
For a moment, she looked up at him, searching his face. His eyes were steady, dark, patient. The night wrapped them in stillness, and she realized she had not felt safe since the moment she entered that hall.
Her voice came small. "I should not come here, and you should not be here."
His answer was quiet but firm. "There was nowhere else I could be."
She looked away again, her chest tight. The truth in his tone both steadied and unsettled her. "You make things harder," she whispered.
Lucian's mouth curved faintly, though there was no amusement in his eyes. "I know."
The wind stirred between them. Evelina drew in a slow breath, then released it. "If anyone saw us leave like this, they will talk."
"They already do," he said.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Then why make it worse?"
"Because I will not let you face them alone."
The words silenced her. The garden seemed to shrink around them, the air heavy with things unsaid.
Evelina turned away first, looking toward the path that led deeper into the hedges. Her hands brushed the folds of her gown, stilling their tremor. "You always say the right thing," she murmured.
Lucian's tone softened. "No. Only what I mean."
She faced him again. Her expression shifted between strength and weariness. "And what do you mean tonight?"
He met her gaze. "That I will not stand by if someone try to hurt or humiliate you. That you deserve better than their games."
Her eyes glistened. "You speak as though you can change what the court is."
"I cannot," he said, steady. "But I can choose where I stand."
Her throat tightened. "And if where you stand destroys you?"
Lucian stepped closer, so near she could feel the warmth of him against the night air. "Then I fall on my own terms."
Evelina's breath caught. The ache in her chest deepened, spreading into something she no longer wished to deny. She wanted to speak, to tell him to stop, to tell him to go, but none of those words would come.
Instead, she said softly, "You make me afraid of myself."
Lucian's voice gentled. "Then I will be careful with what I ask of you."
She looked at him for a long moment, and in that quiet she saw no ambition in his face, no calculation, only honesty. It frightened her more than any rumor ever could.
Lucian lifted his hand again, slower this time, giving her room to step away. She didn't. His fingers brushed her cheek, the touch light as breath. Her eyes closed. For a heartbeat, the garden stilled.
Then she drew back, not from rejection, but from the force of her own feelings. She turned her face aside, whispering, "If I stay, I will not be able to walk away."
Lucian's voice came steady, though softer now. "Then I will walk you back."
She looked at him again. There was no demand in his tone, only care. She nodded. "All right."
He offered his arm. She took it without hesitation. Together they moved through the garden, their steps slow, measured. The house rose again in the distance, its lights harsh after the calm of the night.
As they neared the terrace, she spoke quietly. "Thank you, Lucian."
He looked at her, his eyes unreadable. "Do not thank me for doing what is right."
When they reached the terrace doors, Evelina paused. The sounds of the ball returned—music, laughter, voices layered thick. She turned to him one last time. "They will ask questions."
"Then let them," he said. "Let them know you were not alone."
She looked at him a moment longer, her heart unsteady but her face calm. Then she stepped back inside but before they reached the doorway, they we're joined by Baron Whitcombe and Lady Lescott.
Lucian remained at the doorway, his eyes following her until the crowd swallowed her figure. The night wind stirred again, tugging at the ends of his coat.
He looked toward the darkened garden where she had stood minutes before. The faint scent of roses still lingered.
He had promised her she would not face them alone. He knew now that promise would cost him more than reputation. It might cost everything.
But he did not turn away.
He followed her inside.