The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Sunderglen sank into a strange, uneasy silence. Not the calm silence of a peaceful village, but the sharp, crackling stillness that comes right before a storm breaks loose. Word had already started spreading about what happened in the Frank household—whispers that traveled from doorstep to marketplace to the quiet corners where truth and poison often mingled.
By the riverbank, under the old banyan tree, Rosaline and Adrian remained together, holding onto a fragile sliver of peace while the world outside sharpened its claws.
The warm glow of dusk washed over Adrian's face, yet his eyes remained darker than the evening sky. He was thinking. Calculating. Preparing. His fingers tightened slightly around Rosaline's as if he could protect her through sheer will.
"Do you hear that?" Rosaline asked softly.
Adrian tilted his head. "Hear what?"
"The silence," she whispered. "It feels wrong."
Adrian exhaled. "That's because someone, somewhere, is planning their next move."
He didn't say Alexander's name.
He didn't say Vincent's name.
He didn't have to.
Rosaline knew.
She leaned her head gently against his shoulder. "Do you ever wish things were simple again… like they were when we were children?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. "Only every day."
She looked up at him, eyes full of conflicted emotions. "Then why does everything feel like it's slipping out of our hands?"
He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.
"Because the world doesn't like it when people choose love over power," he said. "Because men like Alexander don't lose easily. And men like Vincent don't forgive."
Her breath caught. "Vincent… he isn't just jealous, is he?"
Adrian looked away, the shadows deepening in his eyes. "No. Vincent Hale is not simply jealous. He's… involved. With people who want control. And you… choosing me… interferes with their plans."
Rosaline felt a shiver crawl down her spine.
"What plans?"
Adrian hesitated.
Then he spoke carefully.
"There's more going on in this village than you know. Alexander's proposal wasn't just about marriage… it was about alliances. Influence. And someone—someone outside this village—wanted you tied to Alexander. Vincent was sent to make sure it happened."
Rosaline's heart thudded painfully.
"Vincent… betrayed us?" she whispered.
Adrian didn't answer directly.
But the silence spoke for him.
Before she could process the weight of those words, footsteps approached from behind the banyan tree. Heavy, deliberate, carrying the kind of confidence that came from privilege — and menace.
Alexander Hartley stepped into view.
Adrian immediately pulled Rosaline behind him, instinctive and protective.
Alexander's expression was unreadable. His tailored suit hadn't a wrinkle, as though even the dust of Sunderglen dared not cling to him. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture controlled, his eyes calculated.
"Well," Alexander began, voice calm, "I see you both enjoy the sunset. How… poetic."
Adrian's stance shifted subtly, prepared for anything.
"Why are you here, Hartley?"
Alexander smiled — cold, elegant, dangerous.
"To give you a final opportunity."
Rosaline frowned. "Opportunity?"
"Yes," Alexander said smoothly, stepping closer. "Adrian, you walk away. Leave Sunderglen again. Quietly. Permanently."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Not happening."
Alexander's gaze flicked to Rosaline. "And Rosaline will marry as planned. The village will return to peace. Your parents will regain their respect. And everything moves forward without unnecessary conflict."
Rosaline stepped forward.
"No. I already told you—I won't marry you."
Alexander sighed, as if disappointed.
"Rosaline, my dear… you lack imagination. You think love alone can shield you? Do you really believe your little rebellion will go unnoticed? That the people behind me will simply accept it?"
Adrian growled, "Enough with the threats."
Alexander's eyes softened—dangerously.
"Oh, I'm not threatening," he said gently. "I'm warning."
He paused.
"Vincent Hale is not the only observer in this game."
Rosaline froze.
Adrian's pulse quickened.
Alexander leaned closer, voice low, smooth as poison.
"You don't understand the scale of what you're interfering with. This marriage was arranged long before your romantic reunion. You were chosen, Rosaline. Not for who you are… but for who your family is connected to."
Adrian stepped between them. "I won't let you touch her."
Alexander smirked.
"Adrian Raymond. The boy who ran away and returned thinking he could change fate."
Adrian's fists curled.
Rosaline tugged his arm gently, pleading with her eyes. "Don't let him provoke you…"
Alexander's gaze switched back to her.
"Your defiance makes you admirable, Rosaline. But also painfully naive."
He stepped closer.
"Both of you have until midnight to rethink your choices. After that… I won't be as accommodating."
Adrian snapped, "If you hurt her—"
"I won't need to," Alexander interrupted. "Others will."
He walked away, leaving his final words hanging in the air like noose-tightening rope.
"You've both invited a storm you cannot escape."
As his silhouette disappeared into the darkening path, Rosaline felt her knees weaken.
Adrian caught her before she collapsed.
"Hey," he whispered, pulling her tightly into his arms. "Look at me. Look at me, Rosaline."
Her breath trembled violently.
"Adrian… this is bigger than us."
"I know."
"What if they hurt you?"
"They won't."
"What if they hurt my family?"
"I'll protect them."
"What if they—"
"They won't touch you," he said, his voice breaking for the first time. "I swear on everything I am… they won't touch you."
She pressed her forehead to his chest, trying to breathe.
"Adrian… I'm scared," she whispered.
He held her closer, his lips brushing her hair.
"I am too," he admitted. "But fear won't decide our future. We will."
Across the village, inside an abandoned storage house, Vincent Hale stood in the shadows, his phone pressed to his ear.
"They've refused the arrangement," he said quietly.
A distorted voice crackled through the line.
"Then prepare the next step.
Make it painful."
Vincent swallowed hard.
His eyes, once soft, were now filled with something darker—conflict, guilt, and something unidentifiable.
"Yes," he whispered. "But… don't hurt Rosaline."
The voice hissed.
"You do not get to choose who gets hurt.
Do your job."
The line went dead.
Vincent exhaled shakily, gripping the phone until his knuckles whitened.
He stared at a small object in his other hand—
A silver chain with a tiny locket.
Rosaline's childhood locket.
He whispered her name once.
Then he whispered another:
"Adrian… forgive me."
As the moon rose over Sunderglen, the village prepared for sleep.
But in the shadows, the real night was only beginning.
And by morning…
Nothing would be the same.