Though her days remained bleak, a faint shift had stirred in Eva's life after her visit to the castle. It wasn't that the rumors had ceased whispering behind her back, nor that her family's cold indifference had thawed—no, they continued as ever, treating her presence like something half-forgotten, a ghost wandering through their home.
Once, such cruelty had hollowed her out, gnawing at her heart in slow, invisible bites until she could hardly tell where the pain ended and she began. But now... now there was something small and steady that kept her from crumbling entirely. A distraction. A fragile spark that glimmered against the dull ache of her days.
That spark was reading—and writing.
The book Lord Hades Valentine had gifted her was no simple volume for a beginner. Its pages brimmed with elegant letters that curved and twined like threads of silver ink, beautiful and intimidating. Yet he had told her, in that voice that carried both warmth and quiet command, that if she ever found a word too difficult, she need only draw a small line beneath it. When they met again—at the time he had promised—he would teach her its meaning, how to sound it, how to make the words her own.
For Eva, that promise was nothing short of a miracle.
Each page she turned felt like stepping into another world—one untouched by cruelty, untouched by scorn. It was a world that belonged to her alone, and perhaps, in some strange way, to him too. Still, she kept her reading secret. The thought of Serena discovering it made her stomach twist. After what had happened with the dress, Eva feared her sister's jealousy might take a darker turn—snatching the book from her hands, or worse, tearing it apart.
Especially this morning during breakfast, she had seen how Serena had grinned, something about his smile felt dangerous, which made her more protective of the book today.
She could not bear the thought. Not when Hades had told her how precious the book was to him. Not when it had become precious to her for reasons she didn't fully understand.
So, she devised a small deceit. She would take her wooden basket filled with bright threads, pretending she meant to weave veils under the sun. Her family barely noticed—no one asked where she went, and no one cared enough to stop her.
Thus, Eva carved out her quiet freedom. She would walk to the far meadow where the lemon trees grew wild and fragrant, their branches heavy with pale fruit. There, beneath the shifting shade, she would sit on the soft grass, unwrap the book she had hidden in linen, and trace her fingertips over its cover. She did it as one might touch a treasure—careful, and gentle, afraid to chip the details.
The scent of lemons and warm earth surrounded her, sunlight dappling her face. The world felt hushed, as though holding its breath with her. There, she would read earnestly losing herself between the pages until the noise of her family and the sting of their silence faded into nothing. Each word drew her further away from the life that had never wanted her, and closer to the mysterious lord who, for some reason, had given her this piece of light.
The book was difficult, its words too unique for her to understand, but Eva pressed on. And as she learned to understand them, she found beauty—not only in the writing, but in what it spoke of.
It told the story of a thin red thread bound to one's little finger, tying two souls together from birth to death—a bond that endured storms, time, and death. No matter how far apart, they would always find their way back. And if they were forced to perish, they would perish together.
Sometimes, as she read, her chest would tighten with something bittersweet.
It made her wonder whether there truly was someone out there whose thread was tied to hers. Someone who might see her, who might stay. Someone who would never turn away, no matter how easily the world seemed to.
Surely, he would not betray her—no, not like those around her. Surely, he would love her the way the man in the story had loved his beloved, enough to fall into the underworld after her, rather than live in a world without her light.
And as the wind played through the lemon branches and the sun dimmed behind drifting clouds, Eva thought—for the first time in a long while—that perhaps she still had a piece of her heart left to dream with.
"Miss Eva!"
Adrian Iverson's voice broke through the quiet like the crack of glass. Eva startled, her fingers tightening around the book as if it had suddenly turned to fire. In an instant, she shut it and hid it beneath the folded linen, pulling her wooden basket close to her knees as though it might shield her.
Her green eyes snapped toward him, and the serenity that had softened her face moments before vanished, replaced instead by wariness, a flicker of fear she couldn't disguise fast enough.
"Sir Iverson," she greeted, her tone polite yet distant. She caught the faint twitch at the corner of his smile, the subtle irritation in his eyes, he never liked when she called him Iverson. Perhaps it reminded him that she still kept him at an arm's length. "This place is far from your mansion," she added carefully. What she truly meant was you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have found me.
Adrian's lips curved into a practiced smile. "It is," he admitted softly, taking a step closer. "But I was looking for you. I thought about it, Evangeline, and I believe you know by now—my affection for you is far more than a stranger's pity. Yet the way you treat me so coldly, hurts my heart. So I wish to speak to you about it."
His wings folded neatly behind him, the sunlight glinting off their pale edges. His golden hair caught the light, soft and angelic, and his eyes, gentle and patient, seemed to study her as though she were something fragile, a bird with a broken wing.
Eva's heart beat unevenly in her chest. She knew she should feel safe with him. Adrian had always been kind, had always spoken with a warmth that most others never offered her. And yet...
Something in him unsettled her. Perhaps it was the way he crossed boundaries without realizing—or without caring. The way he always spoke with such calm certainty, as though her eventual affection was a matter of when, not if. His confidence pressed against her like a hand at her back, guiding her somewhere she didn't wish to go.
It wasn't anything obvious, nothing she could name aloud, but her body knew what her mind tried to deny, that she did not feel safe.
Still, she wondered if she was being unfair—if perhaps she was only imagining the unease that coiled beneath her ribs. Adrian was good, wasn't he? Kind. Gentle. Everyone said so.
Maybe she was wrong to doubt him. Maybe it was only her mind, fragile and frightened as it was, that made monsters out of men who smiled too kindly.
"I apologize," she bent her head quickly, trying to figure out words that could somehow amend the situation. In their village there was once a beautiful unmarried young girl, the daughter of a carpenter.
Misfortune struck to the carpenter's daughter as a Seraph had fallen in love with her but she refused him firmly, reasoning that she had already been engaged with a human man.
Of course, the Seraph didn't take it kindly and what happened after that?
The next day the girl's engaged fiancee and father was brought to the scaffold, hang for everyone to watch as a warning.
She knows what would happen if she refuse Adrian too firmly, or even hurt his ego.
"I noticed that you do have affection toward me, Sir Iverson," she said softly.
His smile deepened. "So you do feel it." He stepped closer, voice warm and certain. "Then you must also understand that my affection for you is sincere. I've given it much thought, Evangeline. After the Ball, I intend to visit your family. to speak with your father, and ask for your hand in marriage."
Eva froze. Instead of joy, fear flickered across her face.
"That... won't be necessary," she murmured.
Adrian's smile faltered, his brow tightening. "Won't be necessary?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "You don't care for me, then? I can't imagine it's my appearance or my manners that offend you. I've been nothing but kind, haven't I?"
"It isn't about you," she said quickly, her voice trembling. "It's about me. My family— we come from nothing. I have no dowry, no education, no beauty worthy of your name. It would only bring you embarrassment."
He shook his head, eyes narrowing. "You're lying."
"I'm not—"
"Then what is it?" His voice cut her off. "You've found someone else, haven't you?"
"No! I—"
Before she could finish, he reached forward, his hand seizing her wrist in a grip so tight it stole her breath.
"Then tell me," he hissed, leaning close, his breath brushing her cheek. "Why run from me if not for someone else?"
Eva's heart pounded painfully in her chest. She struggled against his hold, but his fingers only tightened, his wings shifting behind him like restless shadows.
"Let go," she whispered.
But Adrian's eyes—once soft and gentle—had darkened, his smile nowhere to be found.
"I have found it odd, why is it that despite all my kindness and sincerity do you seem to dislike my presence so much? Unless you have another man, I can't think of another possible answer," he groaned sharply, as if ready to snap her wrist in two if she refuses to answer.