The Harrow estate sat on the high ground of the noble district, its white stone walls and tall iron gate designed to look imposing.
Oliver walked straight through.
No guard moved to stop him. No maid stepped in his way.
The servants took one look, recognized that familiar messy brown hair, and quietly shifted to the side like people avoiding a small, walking disaster.
They were already used to Oliver.
He passed through the front courtyard and headed toward the inner garden.
The path was lined with neat hedges and flowerbeds.
At the center, a round stone platform opened into a small courtyard, with a marble bench placed beside a low fountain.
Fiona Harrow sat there.
She wore a light dress the color of pale blue sky, her long hair tied with a white ribbon.
On her lap lay a small white fox cub, fur as pure as snow, ears pointed, and tail fluffy like a ball of cotton.
She gently stroked its back, fingers moving through the fur in slow,. The fox's tail was raised and swayed lazily, clearly enjoying the attention.
Oliver stopped at the edge of the courtyard and swallowed.
For a moment, he felt like turning around and pretending he had never come. Then he remembered his mother's words.
"Don't you dare come home until Fiona forgives you."
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The sound of his footsteps on stone made the fox flinch. Its tail instantly curled down, covering its rear end.
It turned and glared at Oliver, letting out a low, warning growl.
It clearly remembered the "scientific curiosity" from last time.
Fiona also turned her head. Her expression, which had been calm a moment ago, froze.
Then her brows drew together, her eyes sharpened, and her whole face cooled down in an instant.
"Why are you here again?" she snapped. "Go away."
Oliver forced a smile that hurt his cheeks.
"Fiona, I… I came to apologize."
"I refuse," Fiona said.
"I was wrong," Oliver said quickly. "I really was wrong.
I should not have called your Silver Moon Fox a meat bun. Or tried to test its tail. That part was… slightly excessive."
The fox's fur bristled when it heard "meat bun." Its tail clamped harder over its backside.
Fiona snorted.
"You think I don't know you do not even mean it?" she said coldly. "You only came because your mother told you."
Oliver's mouth twitched.
"That is not true," he protested. "I mean, she did scare me, but I also came because I was wrong."
He spread his hands, trying to look sincere. It only made him look more guilty.
"I am really sorry," Oliver said. "I apologize to you. I apologize to your fox. I apologize to its tail. Is that enough?"
The fox bared its teeth at him.
Fiona turned her head away and refused to look at him.
"Your apologies are always cheap," she said. "You say sorry today, then you cause trouble again tomorrow. Why should I forgive you?"
"I do not cause trouble on purpose," Oliver argued. "Trouble just comes to me. It is like we are fated."
"That is not fate," Fiona said. "That is stupidity."
Oliver felt his patience slowly crack.
He had come all the way here, gotten laughed at by half the street because of a hopping sandal, and now he was being scolded again.
"I admit I am at fault," Oliver said, trying to keep calm. "I already said that. Many times. But you started it first."
Fiona finally looked back at him, eyes wide.
"I started it?" she repeated. "How is any of this my fault?"
"You told me peasants should not walk on the same road as you," Oliver said.
"You said my face lowered the value of the street. You kicked my crate. Your fox bit my leg. What do you mean you are not at fault?"
"I only said that because of you!" Fiona shot back.
"You were dragging that ugly crate in front of my carriage like a snail. Are you proud of wasting half my morning?"
In Fiona's mind, she truly did not feel wrong. She had only said those things out of anger because he refused to let her pass.
Her carriage had been crawling behind Oliver for almost half an hour before she finally told him to move.
But he did not move. He even snorted back at her and called her "a princess who cannot stay patient."
That was what had triggered Fiona.
"It was not ugly," Oliver said. "It was Art!"
"Ugly," Fiona repeated.
The two of them glared at each other.
At the side, near a stone lantern, a certain black sandal lay on the ground, pretending to be an honest piece of footwear while listening to everything.
Ethan watched the scene and felt his soul ache.
"This is painful," he muttered under his breath. "He have worse social skill than me."
In the courtyard, the argument continued.
"I said I am sorry," Oliver snapped. "What else do you want me to do? Kneel? kowtow? Bring you a whole cart of meat buns so you can compare shapes?"
Fiona's face darkened.
"You really have death wishes," she said. "Do you think I will forgive you with that kind of attitude?"
Oliver's temper finally broke.
"I tried to be nice," he said. "I tried to be patient. I even tried to be polite, which is very rare for me.
But you are always like this. You act like you are some kind of perfect princess, but your mouth is sharper than a butcher's knife."
Her eyes went cold.
"Say that again," she said.
"And that fox," Oliver pushed on, no longer stopping himself.
"Do you know how hard it bit me? I still have teeth marks. Its face is cute, but its heart is vicious. Just like its owner."
"You…" Fiona's hands shook slightly.
The fox puffed up like a ball, ready to bite him all over again.
Oliver pointed a finger at her, anger rising to the surface.
"You little devil," he said. "You look harmless when you sit there petting your fox, but you cause more trouble than I do."
The moment the words left his mouth, Oliver froze. He knew he had gone too far.
Fiona already hated being called "princess," and now he had added "devil" on top of it, a word that was practically taboo for her.
Fiona's face turned expressionless.
The air around her seemed to cool by several degrees. She lifted her chin slightly and looked past him, as if he no longer existed.
"Get out," she said softly.
Oliver felt a sting in his chest. His pride did not let him back down.
"Fine," he said. "I tried. I am not going to coax you all day. Forget it."
He turned around and stomped away, his footsteps loud on the stone floor.
The servants at a distance quickly looked down, pretending to admire the ground.
The fox watched him go, still on Fiona's lap.
After Oliver's figure disappeared behind the hedge, Fiona's shoulders dropped just a little. Her cold face trembled, and she let out a quiet sob that no one else heard.
The white fox turned and nudged her hand with its nose, letting out a small whine.
Fiona reached out and rubbed its head.
Her expression slowly smoothed out, becoming calm and blank again, like a mask she had practiced for years.
"It is fine," she said softly to the fox. "He is just an idiot."
The fox blinked and rested its head on her knee, tail wrapping around itself again.
Far above the courtyard, on the terrace of the main building, a middle-aged man stood, leaning on the stone railing.
He wore a dark coat, his figure tall and straight, but his face was tired.
A thin scar crossed one of his eyes, making his gaze look even sharper, though right now it was filled with something else.
Despite the distance, he had seen everything.
This man was Viscount Harrow, lord of the estate and Fiona's father.
He watched the empty courtyard and let out a long breath.
In his eyes, guilt and sadness mixed into a heavy expression.
"It seems I have failed again," he murmured.
No one around him answered.
The servants on the terrace stood two steps behind, heads lowered, pretending they had not heard anything.
Viscount Harrow turned away at last and walked back inside.
Oliver did not go back to the city right away.
He wandered deeper into the Harrow estate grounds, until he reached a quiet lake at the edge of the property.
The water was clear, reflecting the sky like a mirror. White birds stood on rocks near the shore.
He crouched by the bank, picked up a small stone, and threw it at the surface.
Plop.
A small ripple spread.
"I am the one who came to apologize," he muttered. "I even said she was right. Why is she still so angry?"
He picked up another stone and threw it harder.
Plop.
"Little Devil," he said under his breath. "Her mouth is poisonous. She insults me first, but somehow it is all my fault."
A shadow bounced at his side.
Ethan hopped his way over the grass and came to a stop next to Oliver's foot.
He had escaped from the front courtyard after a long, humiliating crawl and several close calls with gardeners.
He watched Oliver throw another stone.
"You are really bad at this," Ethan said.
Oliver's hand froze.
"Shut up," he replied without looking down. "I do not want to be lectured by a sandal."