The garden became Eline's chosen place of exile.
Not because it was beautiful — though it was.
But because it was the only place where the walls did not feel like they were listening.
Morning light filtered through tall cypress trees, cutting the gravel paths into sharp lines of gold and shadow. The hedges were trimmed too perfectly, the roses bloomed in unnatural symmetry. Even the wind seemed controlled here.
Eline sat on a stone bench beneath a climbing vine, hands resting loosely in his lap, though his mind was anything but loose.
His mind was running quietly from last toward days with thoughts
If I ever run… it cannot be impulsive.
He had tried defiance before. It had only tightened the invisible leash around his neck.
So now he smiled more. Spoke less. Walked calmly.
Let them think I've accepted it.
Two days.
Two days since that night.
Two days since Carlson had slept with him.
But after that ,
He had expected coldness.
He had prepared for detachment.
Every morning and every evening, Carlson asked only one question:
"Did you feel anything different?"
No softness or cruelty. Just expectation.
And when Eline said no — because truly, he felt nothing unusual — Carlson would study him for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Then say quietly:
" eat well and Take care of yourself."
And leave.
No anger or disappointment.
Almost as if he was waiting for something inevitable.
Eline exhaled slowly.
(If I'm not pregnant yet… I still have time)
The thought was fragile, but it kept him steady.
He was tracing possible exit routes in his mind when a voice came from behind him.
"If you could really—"
The voice stopped mid-sentence.
Eline's spine stiffened instantly.
He turned.
A young man stood a few steps away, holding pruning shears loosely at his side. He couldn't have been much older than Eline — perhaps mid-twenties. Sun-browned skin.
Lean build. He looked like he was latine but with different beard.Not dressed like the house staff.
His eyes widened when they met Eline's.
"Oh—" He straightened immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"
He hesitated.
"You're the new master," he said carefully.
The word hung between them.
New.
Not just master.
New master.
Eline studied him silently.
The man shifted, suddenly aware that he might have spoken too casually.
"I come once a month" he continued quickly. "For the garden maintenance. I don't usually see… anyone."
His gaze flickered up toward the mansion, then back to Eline.
Eline stood slowly from the bench.
"You don't usually see anyone?" he asked, voice neutral.
"No," the young man said. "It's usually empty out here. The staff stays inside. I do the outer sections alone."
Outer sections.
Meaning near the walls.
Meaning near the gates.
Eline's heartbeat sharpened — but his expression remained soft.
"How long have you worked here?"
"About a year," the gardener replied. "They hired me last spring."
Only one year.
That meant he wasn't deeply rooted. Not entirely loyal yet. Not fully absorbed into whatever this place was.
"What's your name?" Eline asked.
The young man hesitated for half a second.
"Arman."
Eline nodded once.
"Eline."
Arman's brows lifted slightly — like he had expected something more intimidating.
"I've heard about you," Arman said quietly.
Eline tilted his head just a little.
"Oh?"
Arman swallowed.
"Only that the estate has a… new master. And that things have changed inside."
Changed.
In what way?
"How have they changed?" Eline asked gently.
Arman hesitated again.
The wind rustled through the leaves between them.
"I shouldn't say," he muttered. "It's not my place."
Eline took a slow step closer — not threatening, not desperate.
Just curious.
"You were saying something before," Eline said softly. "When you first saw me."
Arman blinked.
"I was?"
"You said, 'If you could really—'"
Arman's fingers tightened around the pruning shears.
Color rose slightly to his face.
"I thought you were someone else," he said. "I thought you were one of the house staff."
"And if I had been?" Eline asked.
Arman exhaled through his nose, debating.
"I was going to ask if they really let you walk around freely."
The sentence was casual.
But it wasn't.
Eline's eyes sharpened, just slightly.
"Why wouldn't they?"
Arman met his gaze this time.
There was something careful in his eyes.
Measured.
"Because," Arman said quietly, "no one ever walks around freely here."
Silence.
The words were not accusatory.
They were observational.
Eline felt something shift.
Arman noticed.
He knows something.
Not everything.
But enough.
Eline let out a small, almost amused breath.
"Well," he said lightly, "I suppose I'm privileged."
Arman didn't smile.
Eline noticed.
And that was when it clicked.
The gardener wasn't just trimming hedges.
He was observing.
"How long do you stay when you come?" Eline asked casually.
"A few hours. Sometimes the full day if the outer trees need work."
"And then you leave?"
"Yes."
Leave.
The word felt like oxygen.
Arman shifted his weight again.
"If I said something inappropriate," he added, "I apologize. I didn't mean to assume anything."
Eline studied him carefully.
Was he fishing for information?
Was this a test?
Or was this simply a young man noticing what others pretended not to?
Eline smiled — soft, harmless.
"It's fine," he said. "I like the garden. It's quiet."
Arman's expression softened slightly.
"It's the only place that feels real," he said before he could stop himself.
Their eyes locked.
For a second too long.
And from the upper balcony—
Behind darkened glass—
A figure watched.
Unmoving.