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Chapter One: The Day She Cried
The first time Ethan Astor saw her, she was crying behind the rose bushes.
He was just fifteen then—old enough to be arrogant, rich enough to get whatever he wanted, and already learning the rules of a world where softness was a weakness.
He hated crying.
It reminded him of his mother, the only person who'd ever made him feel helpless. And he hated feeling helpless most of all.
So when he turned the corner of the garden and found a girl—small, skinny, with dirt on her knees and tears in her eyes—he almost walked away.
Almost.
But she looked up at him.
Big brown eyes. Tear-stained cheeks. A scraped elbow. And this… this stupid little trembling lip that made something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
"Who are you?" he asked, blunt as always.
She sniffled. "Clara."
"That's not an answer," he said. "You're on my estate."
She blinked. "Am I in trouble?"
He didn't respond right away. Her voice was so soft he barely heard it.
"Depends," he said finally. "Did you break something?"
"No."
"Steal?"
"No."
"Then you're probably not."
She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. His butler would faint if he saw it.
Ethan sighed. "Why are you crying?"
"I lost the kitten," she said quietly, looking down. "It ran away, and now I can't find it."
"You had a kitten?"
She nodded. "It wasn't mine. I was just holding it and… I think I hugged it too hard."
He stared at her for a long moment, then turned away.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To find the kitten," he said, already walking.
She followed.
---
They didn't speak much after that—just wandered through the garden together in the late afternoon sun, looking under hedges and behind statues. After thirty minutes, Ethan found the kitten trapped in a drainpipe, mewling pathetically.
He pulled it out, handed it to her, and watched her face break into a smile so bright it made something in his chest twist again.
"You're not that scary," she said suddenly.
"Excuse me?"
"Everyone says you don't talk to anyone," she replied. "That you're cold and spoiled and angry all the time."
"They say that?"
She nodded, petting the kitten. "You kind of look like it, too."
He should've been insulted.
He wasn't.
Instead, he stared at this little girl with messy hair and scraped knees and wondered why, for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be anywhere else.
---
She left that night. Her parents were old friends of the Astors, visiting from a faraway town Ethan never cared to remember. He didn't ask questions.
But a week later, his father walked into his study and said, "The girl. Clara. She's staying with us."
"Why?"
"Her parents left the country. Messy situation. She's better off here."
And that was it.
Just like that, she was his.
---
Years Later
He watched her from the window as she danced in the rain.
She didn't remember much from that day. But he did.
Every moment. Every tear. Every smile.
Because from the moment she looked up at him with those glassy brown eyes and said, "Am I in trouble?" — Ethan Astor had been in trouble.
And it was already too late to escape.