Morning came with a silence that felt unnatural.The fields outside were still covered in mist, and the wind carried the heavy scent of smoke and fear. Rosefield was no longer a town of peace—it had become a place where whispers could kill.
Clara hadn't slept. The events of the night haunted her—the gunfire, the shouting, the way James had been dragged away while she could do nothing but cry his name into the dark.
Sam had returned just before dawn, his clothes soaked, his face pale.
"They took him to the old fort," he said quietly. "He's alive… for now."
Clara closed her eyes, relief and terror mixing in her chest. "Thank God," she whispered. "But for how long?"
Sam hesitated. "Miss Clara… there's more. Someone saw you. Someone told Mr. Nathaniel."
Her blood ran cold.
Nathaniel Montgomery.Her father's friend. Her late fiancé. The man who had once promised her everything before the war tore it all apart.
He had returned to Rosefield only days ago—a decorated soldier, proud and strong, carrying the weight of victory and vengeance. Clara hadn't seen him since before the fire, before her world changed.
Now, he knew her secret.
That afternoon, Clara was in the garden trying to calm her shaking hands when she heard footsteps behind her.
"Clara."
The voice was deep, familiar, and sharp like a blade she had once known how to hold.
She turned slowly. Nathaniel stood there, his uniform clean, his posture proud. But his eyes—those once-kind blue eyes—were now cold and hard.
"You've been hiding something from me," he said.
Clara swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't lie to me," Nathaniel snapped. "You think I don't know about the deserter? The man you've been seeing?"
Her heart pounded. "Nathaniel—please—"
He stepped closer, his expression dark. "After everything—after your father's trust, after all we lost—you shame this family with him? A traitor?"
Clara's voice trembled. "He's not a traitor. He's a man who saved my life. You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly," Nathaniel said bitterly. "You let him into your heart, and now you've doomed yourself."
Tears burned her eyes. "You don't know what love is anymore, Nathaniel. You only know pride and war."
He laughed coldly. "Love? You call this love? Risking your life for a man who would have destroyed everything your father built?"
Clara stepped forward, anger flashing through her grief. "And what have you built, Nathaniel? Graves and broken homes? I'd rather love a wounded soul than become one."
His face hardened. "Then you leave me no choice."
"What are you saying?"
"I've already sent word to the officers. They'll come for him by sunset."
Her breath caught. "No…"
"I can't let this stain our name."
"Nathaniel, please," she begged, her voice breaking. "He's hurt. He's not your enemy anymore."
But Nathaniel's jaw stayed tight. "He's everyone's enemy. And you—you're blind because of him."
When he turned to leave, Clara ran after him, grabbing his arm. "If you ever cared for me, even once, don't do this."
He looked at her for a long moment. For the briefest second, his eyes softened.
Then he said quietly, "I did care for you, Clara. That's why I can't let you destroy yourself."
And he walked away.
Clara stood in the garden long after he was gone, shaking, unable to breathe. The flowers around her swayed in the wind, their petals scattering like her thoughts.
Nathaniel had always been proud, but she never imagined he would betray her so easily.
When Sam found her, she was pale and silent.
"What did he say?" he asked.
Clara's voice came out hollow. "He's turning James in. We have to warn him."
Sam nodded. "Then we'll go tonight."
As darkness fell, they moved quietly toward the fort at the edge of town. It was an old stone building once used to store grain, now turned into a temporary prison. Soldiers guarded the entrance, their torches flickering in the wind.
Clara hid behind a tree, watching. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"I have to see him," she whispered.
Sam shook his head. "It's too dangerous. If they see you—"
"I don't care."
She waited until the guards turned away, then slipped through the shadows toward the side wall. There was a small barred window, half-covered with ivy. She climbed up, fingers trembling.
"James," she whispered.
At first, there was no answer. Then, a faint voice: "Clara?"
She could barely see him in the darkness, but his voice was weak and real.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"I had to see you. Nathaniel knows. He told them where you are. They'll come for you."
He sighed. "I thought so."
"We have to get you out."
He gave a sad smile. "You can't save me this time, Clara."
Her tears fell silently. "Then let me at least try."
He reached through the bars, his hand brushing hers. His skin was cold, his grip weak.
"Listen to me," he said softly. "Promise me you'll live. Promise me you'll leave this place when it's over."
"I can't."
"You must. My love, if they take me, they can't take you."
She pressed his hand to her lips. "I'll never stop fighting for you."
A sudden noise startled them—a voice shouting, "Who's there?"
Clara ducked low, heart racing. A guard's lantern swept across the wall.
"Go!" James hissed. "Please, Clara—go!"
But she couldn't move. Tears blurred her vision. "I love you," she whispered.
Then she ran.
The next morning, soldiers filled the town again. Word spread quickly—James Bennett was to be executed at dawn for treason.
Clara felt her world collapse. Every sound, every face, every corner of Rosefield seemed to close in on her.
Nathaniel came to the house at midday. His boots were dusty, his expression unreadable.
"You did this," she said when she saw him. "You might as well have shot him yourself."
He said nothing for a moment, then quietly replied, "It's the law, Clara. It's justice."
"No," she whispered, tears streaking her cheeks. "It's jealousy."
His face darkened. "You think I wanted this? I wanted you safe."
"Then why do I feel like you've killed me too?"
He took a step closer, his voice softer now. "I never stopped loving you, Clara. But I lost you to a man who didn't deserve you. That's the price of love—pain. And you'll understand that one day."
She looked at him with pure sorrow. "No, Nathaniel. The price of love is sacrifice. And you've forgotten how to pay it."
That night, Clara sat alone in her room, the candle burning low. Outside, thunder rolled again, just as it had the night James came to her door.
She opened her chest and took out the old letters—each one she had written to him, each one he had answered.
She read them over and over until her eyes blurred, until her heart broke anew.
Then, with trembling hands, she began to write one final letter.
My beloved,
If love is a crime, then I am guilty forever.I would rather die a thousand times than see you suffer for loving me.
They will never understand what we had. But I will not let our story end in silence.
If you hear the wind tonight, know it carries my heart to you.
I will be waiting—on this side or the next.
Forever yours,Clara
When she finished, she folded the paper and pressed it to her heart.
At that moment, Sam burst into the room. "Miss Clara—hurry! They're moving him now—to the gallows!"
Clara stood, her body trembling but her eyes fierce. "Then I'm going too."
And as she ran through the storm, dress soaked and heart burning, she knew love had a price—and she was ready to pay it.