Elara kept her promise—but keeping it felt like slowly suffocating.
Days passed in a blur of etiquette lessons, embroidery, and polite conversations that meant nothing. She smiled when expected, laughed on cue, and nodded through discussions of dowries and estates. Yet beneath the calm surface, her thoughts rebelled.
She dreamed of fields.
In her dreams, the wheat parted as she walked through it, and Luca stood waiting, his expression unreadable. Every time she tried to speak, the wind carried her voice away.
One afternoon, unable to bear the walls of the manor any longer, Elara wandered into the estate library. Dust motes danced in the air as sunlight filtered through tall windows. She reached for a book at random, seeking escape, but her hand trembled.
"You've been restless," her mother's voice said behind her.
Elara turned. "Have I?"
"You rarely hide your emotions well," Lady Montclair said kindly. "That is both your strength and your weakness."
Elara swallowed. "Must I marry someone I do not love?"
Her mother paused. "Love grows with time."
"That is not an answer."
Her mother sighed. "Elara, love without security is suffering."
Elara thought of Luca's hands—scarred yet steady. "And security without love?"
"Is survival," her mother said.
The words settled heavily between them.
---
Down in the village, whispers had begun to spread.
"They say she walks among the fields," one woman murmured as Luca passed by.
"Rich girls don't walk," another replied. "They inspect."
Luca kept his head down, but the rumors followed him like shadows. He noticed the overseer watching him more closely. Tasks grew heavier. Mistakes were punished harshly.
One evening, Luca found Elara waiting near the old oak tree at the edge of the estate—where stone walls began to crumble into earth. She stood nervously, twisting her gloves.
"You came back," he said.
"I couldn't stay away," she replied. "I tried."
"You shouldn't have," Luca said, though relief flickered in his eyes.
"I'm being promised to another man," Elara said suddenly. "I needed you to know."
Luca's breath caught. "Then this ends now."
"I don't want it to," she said.
"That doesn't change anything."
Elara stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I would give up everything."
Luca's expression hardened. "No, you wouldn't."
"Yes," she insisted. "The dresses, the house, the name—I would leave it all."
"And when winter comes?" he asked quietly. "When hunger replaces romance?"
The words cut deep because they were true.
"I don't care," she whispered.
"I do," Luca said. "Because if you fall, they'll lift you back up. But if I fall, no one will notice."
Silence fell heavy between them.
"I won't meet you again," Luca said at last. "For your sake."
"For yours, you mean."
"For both," he replied.
Before she could stop herself, Elara reached out and brushed his hand.
The touch was brief—but it burned.
They parted without another word.
---
The next morning, Elara awoke to news.
Luca had been reassigned to the northern fields—far from the estate, far from her.
She knew without being told why.
Guilt settled in her chest like a stone.
---
Luca worked harder than ever, but distance did not dull longing—it sharpened it. Each night, he replayed their conversations, wondering if courage had disguised itself as cruelty.
One stormy evening, thunder rolling overhead, Luca stood alone in the fields as rain soaked his clothes. He thought of Elara sheltered beneath stone and silk, perhaps never knowing how deeply she had already changed him.
He whispered her name to the wind.
---
Back at the manor, Elara stood before her mirror, staring at an engagement necklace placed upon her vanity—golden, heavy, suffocating.
She closed her eyes.
Somewhere beyond the walls, Luca endured the storm.
And though neither could see the other, the same truth echoed in both their hearts:
The line between their worlds had not disappeared.
It had only been crossed.