The water from the fountain fell steadily.
Too steadily.
As if the world needed something to fill the silence between them.
Lusian stopped.
Emily did too.
It wasn't coincidence.
It was the kind of pause that doesn't allow you to step back.
—Lady Carter…
His voice came out softer than he intended.
He clenched his hand slightly.
Control.
— I don't want to continue this engagement.
There it was.
Said.
No turning back.
Emily felt the blow in her chest.
Not surprise.
Not exactly.
It was… confirmation.
—…pardon, my lord?
This time, her voice came out better.
Still quiet.
But steady.
Enough.
Lusian didn't look at her right away.
Mistake.
He knew it.
But if he looked at her… he would hesitate.
—It's nothing personal —he added—. I just don't think it's necessary.
Again.
Wrong.
Too honest.
Not enough… Douglas.
Emily noticed it.
And understood something important:
It wasn't indifference.
It was… discomfort.
Small.
But real.
There was room.
She breathed.
Slowly.
Ordering each word before letting it out.
— I understand, my lord.
A pause.
—But… a decision like that… could lead to interpretations.
Correct.
Safe.
—Noble houses depend on stability —she continued carefully—. And sudden changes… tend to draw attention.
That was what she said.
But not what she meant.
Because she knew.
If he withdrew…
it wouldn't be a rumor that followed.
It would be a conclusion.
The Douglases don't break engagements. They correct mistakes.
And families that become mistakes… disappear.
Emily took a step.
Small.
But firm.
Not to approach him.
To avoid stepping back.
—Please… grant me some time.
There it was.
The truth.
Not adorned.
Not romantic.
Necessary.
Lusian finally lifted his gaze.
And looked at her.
Really looked.
There were no tears.
No hysteria.
There was control.
Too much control.
—I don't intend to inconvenience you —she continued—. Nor interfere with your decision.
Another pause.
This one harder.
—Only… to ensure this situation doesn't become something… problematic.
She chose the word carefully.
Problem.
She didn't say death.
She didn't say family.
She didn't need to.
They both understood.
Emily held his gaze.
And inside—
each heartbeat was a countdown.
I'm not asking to stay.
I'm asking not to be killed.
—I can adapt —she added, lower—. Learn. Fulfill what is expected of me.
It wasn't pride.
It was an offer.
—I won't give you any reason to… regret maintaining this bond.
That was the most she could say without breaking.
Without humiliation.
Without dying.
Silence.
The wind moved through the lilacs.
Lusian felt something uncomfortable in his chest.
Because now he saw it clearly.
She wasn't fighting for him.
She was fighting to survive.
And that…
wasn't in the game.
He clenched his fingers slightly.
A faint tremor.
He tried to harden himself.
He should do it.
He should cut this off.
Now.
But—
—Alright.
The words came out before he could stop them.
Emily exhaled.
Softly.
Almost imperceptible.
But enough.
Still alive.
—Thank you… my lord.
A perfect bow.
But her hands—
were still tense.
Ready.
In case everything changed again.
Lusian watched her.
And for the first time, he felt something he didn't want to feel.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Responsibility.
And that… was far more dangerous.
They walked back without speaking.
There was no need to.
The air between them had already said more than enough.
The flowers were still there. So was the sky.
But nothing felt the same anymore.
When they crossed the threshold, Lusian did not stop.
He did not look back.
The Douglases never looked back.
The sound of the carriage fading into the distance took longer than it should have to disappear.
Or perhaps it was Emily who simply could not stop hearing it.
"…just time…" she murmured, barely a thread of voice. "I just need time."
It wasn't a wish.
It was a strategy.
The door closed.
And then she ran.
She climbed the stairs without caring about her dress, without caring about posture, without caring about anything.
She shut her bedroom door.
And collapsed.
It wasn't graceful.
It wasn't quiet.
It was real.
She covered her face, trying to hold back something that could not be held back.
It wasn't sadness.
It was panic.
Cold.
Clear.
Logical.
If this fails… we die.
The thought wasn't an exaggeration.
It was history.
Her mother arrived shortly after.
"Emily… my daughter…"
She held her tightly.
As if that could change anything.
It couldn't.
No one could.
Downstairs, the drawing room was silent.
But not a calm silence.
It was the silence of people already thinking about consequences.
"We need to speak to the king," Manuel said.
Too quickly.
Too late.
"No."
The count didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"That would only confirm we are in trouble."
No one responded.
Because everyone understood what that meant.
"And when a house has trouble with the Douglases…" he continued, "there is no negotiation."
A pause.
"Only deciding how many days are left."
The air grew heavier.
Alejandro didn't move.
But his jaw tightened.
Because he knew how that ended.
He had seen it.
He had lived it.
"But we can't just do nothing!" Manuel insisted. "They've killed entire families for less!"
The count looked at him.
Tired.
Suddenly old.
"Precisely why we cannot act."
Silence.
"The king knows it," he added. "Everyone knows it."
He lifted his glass… but did not drink.
"The Douglases are a problem."
Another pause.
Longer.
"But they are the problem that keeps everyone else in line."
No one dared ask who "everyone else" included.
"If they fall," he continued, "there will be no balance. There will be war."
"And Emily?" Manuel asked, quieter this time.
More real.
The count closed his eyes for a moment.
"Emily… is the price."
The words hung in the air.
Ugly.
True.
When she came downstairs—
she was composed again.
Face clean.
Posture perfect.
But something in her had gone dim.
"He wants to cancel the engagement."
She didn't tremble.
She didn't hesitate.
She said it like a report.
The silence that followed was different.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Certainty.
Emma covered her mouth.
Manuel took a step back.
Alejandro clenched his fists.
Because everyone understood.
A Douglas does not cancel.
A Douglas corrects.
And correction… means erasure.
The count stood up.
Slowly.
As if every movement weighed more than it should.
He took his daughter's hands.
Cold.
"You must make him change his mind."
It wasn't an order.
It was desperation.
"It doesn't matter how."
That part was clear.
Emily met his gaze.
And nodded.
Without tears.
Without resistance.
"I will."
Not for him.
Not for the engagement.
For them.
The count pulled her into an embrace.
Tight.
"Forgive me."
She closed her eyes.
And for a second—
just one second—
she was a daughter again.
"No, Father…" she whispered. "I'm fine."
A lie.
A necessary one.
When they separated—
she was no longer a child.
She was a shield.
From the back of the room, Alejandro said nothing.
But something inside him settled.
Cold.
Final.
He had heard enough.
He had seen enough.
He had waited long enough.
The Douglases were not nobles.
They were not necessary.
They were a mistake the kingdom had chosen to tolerate.
But mistakes…
can be corrected.
And this time—
it would not be a Carter who paid the price.