The Ashwell gardens were quiet in the late afternoon, the air warm and touched with the scent of jasmine. Isabella walked slowly along the stone pathway, trying to steady her breath. She needed distance. She needed air.
But she wasn't alone for long.
Footsteps behind her — unhurried, familiar.
She didn't turn.She already knew.
"Elijah."His name came out softer than she intended. He stopped beside her, not too close — but close enough that she could feel the subtle gravity of him. The sun caught in his dark hair, turning gold at the edges.
"You remember," he said, voice calm. Not smug. Just certain. Isabella crossed her arms, partly to hold herself together."I remember… pieces." She swallowed. "But I do remember you. And I remember that you didn't tell me who you were."
He exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the garden instead of her."If I had told you last night… you would have looked at me differently." She frowned. "You don't know that."
He finally looked at her — and the weight of it was almost physical. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do." Silence stretched between them — not empty, but full of everything unspoken.
Isabella's voice trembled just slightly."So… you live here. You're an Ashwell."
He nodded.
"And you just… let me talk to you like you were a stranger." "You needed someone to listen." His tone was simple. Almost gentle. "And I wanted to hear you." Her heart twisted. "That's not fair," she whispered. "No," Elijah agreed. "It isn't."
Again, silence.Not cold. Just difficult.
She looked away, focusing on a rose bush to keep her hands from shaking.
"Then tell me something now," she said, trying to sound steady. "The wedding. Whose is it? Who is getting married?" He watched her for a long moment — studying her, as though measuring what she could carry. "I am," he said softly.
Her breath stopped.
The world seemed to go quiet — even the birds — even the wind. She forced her voice to work."You." He nodded once. Isabella tried to swallow, but her throat felt tight."Then… who is the bride?"
His jaw tightened — barely, but she saw it.
"That is not public yet," he said slowly. "Why?" she whispered. "Because the bride does not know," he answered. Her stomach twisted — confusion, frustration, dread. "So she's just supposed to walk into it blind?" Isabella asked, the edge in her tone sharper now. Elijah looked at her — not defensive, not cold — but with a sadness she hadn't expected. "Yes," he said quietly. "Just like you walked into all of this." Her breath faltered. He stepped closer — carefully — as if approaching a frightened animal. "You are not alone in this, Isabella." She held his gaze — even though it hurt, even though the air felt too thick to breathe.
"Then tell me who she is."Elijah's voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to," he said. "But when you learn the truth… I want to be the one who tells you. Not your father. Not mine. Me." The promise in his voice felt real. It felt heavy. It felt like something she wasn't ready for.
She looked away before her eyes could betray anything. "Then don't make me wait long," she whispered. And she walked back toward the mansion — slowly, carefully — before her legs could fail her.
Elijah watched her go, hands in his pockets, jaw tight — because soon, very soon, the truth would break everything.