The storm had passed, leaving the villa washed in a quiet kind of peace. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, and I found myself in the garden, carefully trimming the roses.
I loved the garden — it was the only place I could breathe freely, without Isabella's sharp eyes following me. The roses were delicate, fragile, but they still bloomed despite the thorns. Maybe that was why I liked them so much.
"You tend to them with such care."
I turned quickly, nearly dropping the shears. It wasn't Isabella. It wasn't Lucian.
It was her.
Grandma Eleanor.
She stood by the stone path, elegant in her soft lavender shawl, her gray hair pinned neatly, her eyes sharp despite her kind smile.
"Mrs. D'Amore," I stammered, bowing my head.
She waved a hand dismissively. "Eleanor, dear. Call me Eleanor. Titles are heavy things — and I've carried mine long enough."
I hesitated. No one had ever asked me to call them anything so personal before. "E-Eleanor."
Her smile deepened. She stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly over a rose petal. "Do you know what I see when I look at you, child?"
I blinked. "No, ma'am."
"Strength wrapped in softness," she said, her eyes lingering on me with a knowing glint. "Like these roses. People only notice the thorns or the bloom — never the stem that holds everything together."
My chest tightened at her words. Did she see me that clearly? Or was it just the kindness of an old woman?
Before I could respond, she reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Lucian has been… different lately."
My heart stopped. "Different?"
Her smile turned mischievous, almost playful, though her voice carried the weight of wisdom. "The boy wears his shadows like armor, but I've lived long enough to know when light has started to crack through."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I shook my head quickly. "No, you're mistaken. I'm just a maid."
Eleanor's chuckle was soft but full of certainty. "Oh, darling. The world may call you 'just,' but sometimes the simplest souls are the ones who change everything."
Lucian's POV
From the balcony above, I watched.
Elara knelt among the roses, sunlight catching her hair like fire. And my grandmother — clever as ever — sat beside her, speaking words I couldn't hear, but I didn't need to. Eleanor was never subtle when she set her mind on something.
My jaw tightened. I should've stopped myself days ago, should've kept my distance. But seeing Elara there, framed in light, listening to my grandmother as if she belonged in that garden…
A dangerous thought whispered in my mind.Maybe she does.
And that terrified me more than anything.