The wind carried the soft scent of pine and something sweeter. Perhaps the lilacs growing by the east garden. It drifted in through the open balcony doors, brushing lightly against the embroidered curtains as Selene set her book down.
Her thoughts were half lost between the pages and the ache pressing quietly at the back of her mind.
The days had passed slower than she remembered them. Each morning since the day Damian left her in the Ashford manor, and she returned back to her father's estate, she had tried to piece together what was real and what wasn't.
The voices, the faces, and the warmth she used to believe in, it all blurred around the edges. Sometimes she felt like a guest in her own life. Anne keeps on making her feel like a silent observer trapped in a dream she'd already lived once.
Anne's laughter lingered more frequently in the halls. And the servants… they no longer looked at her with the same reverence as they used to. It unsettled her, the way everything looked familiar yet slightly wrong. As if the universe had tilted just enough to make her doubt her footing.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Milady," said Clara. "You have a visitor."
Selene frowned slightly. "At this hour?"
Clara smiled. "Lord Damian. He just arrived. He said he wanted to see you."
For a moment, Selene didn't move. The room stilled, and her heart tightened in a quiet, involuntary flutter. Damian.
She hadn't seen him since that day. The day her father introduced them, and she realized how much of her memory didn't align with what was unfolding before her eyes.
He wasn't supposed to be here yet. Not until the engagement dinner, and not until Richard said so.
Well, here he was. And something in her chest stirred. It felt like an old warmth mixed with unease.
"Show him to the east parlour," she said softly, standing from her seat. "I'll be there shortly."
She caught her reflection in the mirror as Clara hurried off. Her hair was pinned loosely today, with soft blondish gold soft strands curling against her cheek. The pale lavender gown she wore looked delicate, and almost too fragile for the weight pressing against her chest.
She inhaled. Then she walked out of the room, and towards the east palour.
The east parlour was bathed in sunlight when she entered. The scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the faint traces of ink and parchment on the side table.
And there he was, standing by the window as if the world outside had his full attention.
He turned the moment she stepped in.
"Selene," he greeted, his voice gentle but lined with something unfamiliar. It wasn't arrogance, nor indifference like it was supposed to be. It was softer. Sincere, almost painfully so.
"Lord Damian," she said, her voice steady, though her heart was not. "This is… unexpected."
"I couldn't stay away." His words came faster than she anticipated, as though he'd rehearsed them. Then, catching himself, he smiled faintly. "Forgive me. I should have sent word."
He crossed the room with quiet, confident strides until he stood before her, his hand brushing his hair back in that same careless, charming gesture that used to annoy her. But this time, the gesture wasn't rehearsed. There was hesitation in his movement. A pause she'd never seen before.
She frowned, realizing she haven't seen this film before.
"I'm sorry I have neglected you," Damian said, lowering his head slightly.
Selene froze. Her breath caught.
Her mind, the one still haunted by the fragments of what used to be, replayed that line like a broken record.
He did apologise once. However, that only happened because his father forced him to do so.
This, though… This sounded different. It sounded real. As if the man before her wasn't the same one she remembered from her fractured recollections.
She secretly pinched her palm, hard enough to sting. She needed to feel it. To confirm that this was still the world she was standing in.
"Damian, please," she murmured, forcing a small smile. "Do not concern yourself with me."
"I can't help it." He took her hand gently before she could retreat. His grip was warm, and solid. "It's my fault I haven't found the time to talk to you or know you better. We are supposed to be married, Selene. I should have—" He hesitated, his voice roughening slightly. "I should have made more effort."
She blinked. "You're apologising because you were busy?"
He looked up at her then, and the way he held her gaze made her heart skip. "No. I'm apologising because you deserve better than silence."
Selene's throat tightened. This wasn't the Damian she knew. This wasn't the proud heir, and surely not the one who smirked at propriety and only followed rules when it suited him. This Damian sounded… sincere. And that terrified her more than she wanted to admit.
"Do you want to marry me?" he asked suddenly.
Her lips parted, words failing her.
"I— I hardly know," she whispered. He had asked her this once. However, it wasn't this sudden. He asked her this on her 20th birthday. Not few weeks after turning eighteen.
He smiled, though his eyes didn't. "Then I'll give you a reason to."
"Damian—"
"Look," he interrupted gently. "I promise I'll get to know you better. Not because I have to, but because I want to. I've been blind, Selene. Caught in court duties, my father's expectations… I forgot what I actually wanted."
"You have more important things to worry about," she said quietly.
"And yet, here I am," he replied, brushing his thumb across her knuckles before pressing a kiss there. "So maybe this is what's important."
Silence fell between them.
"What is fate doing?" Selene murmured to herself before she could push the words back.
Damian raised a brow. "What? You said something?"
"Nothing. I said nothing," she chuckled nervously.
Selene studied him carefully. The line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows when he looked down, and the faint crease between his brows. He wasn't lying. That much she could tell. But still… it didn't make sense.
He wasn't supposed to care. He did care this soon, but never this much. He was cruel and was only nice when it suited him. Still, her past self had loved him.
Her world had changed quietly without her permission, or without even warning her. And now, every act of kindness made her question whether she was rewriting her own history or simply walking through someone else's dream.
She forced herself to breathe. "You came all this way just to say that?"
"I came because I missed you," he said, voice steady. "And because I wanted to see if the rumours were true."
"Rumours?"
He tilted his head slightly, lips curving. "That you've been locking yourself in your chambers lately. Reading for hours, and not joining your family for tea. People talk."
"People always talk," she murmured.
She couldn't stand Anne most times, so she has to stay in. Also, she needed to arrange the fragments of her memory.
"Yes," he said softly. "But they don't always worry."
Her chest tightened again. "You worry about me?"
"Maybe more than I should."
That was when she saw it. There was the faintest flicker of something dangerous and human in his gaze. Something she couldn't define. Maybe pity. Maybe longing. Maybe both.
Her pulse quickened.
"I should—" she began, but he interrupted again, his tone dropping low.
"Selene," he said. "You can trust me."
Those words. That exact phrase.
It hit her like a slap. He'd said it before. He said it years ago. Just before he broke that trust and every other promises.
Her lips trembled. "I'll try," she whispered.
He smiled faintly, unaware of the storm those two words stirred in her heart. "That's all I ask."
The conversation drifted from there. The held little conversations about the garden, about the small lake near his family estate, about books she didn't remember recommending and stories.
She found herself responding automatically. Her laughter was quiet but genuine, even though half the time she couldn't tell if she was living the present, or reliving a rewritten memory.
Hours passed unnoticed until the sun began to dip lower, painting the parlour in shades of gold and soft amber.
Damian rose. "I should go before your father accuses me of keeping you from your rest."
Selene smiled faintly. "He'd probably thank you for entertaining me."
He paused, watching her carefully. "Then I hope I did."
"You did," she admitted softly.
He stepped closer, his tone gentle. "I meant what I said, Selene. I'll make time for you. No more days apart."
"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she murmured.
Damian didn't reply. He just smiled, bowed lightly, and walked away.
When he left, the world seemed quieter than before. Selene stood by the window long after his carriage had disappeared beyond the gate. Her reflection caught between the fading sunlight and her own confusion.
The memory of his words played in her mind.
'Do you want to marry me?' 'You can trust me.'
She clenched her hands. "Why does everything feel different?" she whispered to herself.
The house around her was the same. The people, the corridors, the portraits. However, the sequence of things… the tone of the days… All of it had changed.