Arin sat in the dimly lit study of House Devain, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows against the tall bookshelves that lined the walls. His father, Duke Alistair Devain, stood by the window, his sharp gaze fixed on the moonlit courtyard below. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, the kind that dictated the course of one's life.
"You will meet Lady Evelyne in private tomorrow," Alistair finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "This is not a request, Arin. The engagement must be solidified."
Arin folded his hands, his expression impassive. "And what if I refuse?"
The duke turned, his golden eyes—so similar to Arin's—narrowing. "Refusal is not an option. House Valmont may be in decline, but this alliance is crucial. You know this."
Arin knew, of course. The political landscape of Eldoria was shifting. House Valmont, once among the kingdom's most powerful families, had been suffering under the weight of scandal and misfortune. A connection to them, though tarnished, still held value. And yet, this was not the reason Arin had already made up his mind.
Evelyne Valmont. The villainess. The tragic figure whose fate had been sealed long before her downfall.
His past life's knowledge told him the story as the world had written it—Lady Evelyne would be condemned, betrayed, and ultimately discarded. But knowledge was not the same as understanding. To change the story, he needed to see her for himself.
---
The following afternoon, Arin found himself in one of House Valmont's private courtyards, waiting. A light breeze rustled through the neatly trimmed hedges, carrying the scent of blooming lilies. It was a beautiful place, yet eerily quiet, as if the estate itself mourned its fading glory.
Then, he heard the soft click of heels against stone.
Evelyne Valmont stepped into view, and for a moment, Arin found himself taken aback.
She was striking—raven-black hair cascading in elegant waves over her shoulders, the strands adorned with delicate silver pins. Her violet eyes, rare and mesmerizing, held a quiet intensity that made it impossible to look away. There was beauty, yes, but also something else beneath the surface—a guarded sorrow, a strength forged through adversity.
She regarded him with cool detachment, her posture poised yet distant. "Lord Devain," she greeted, her voice smooth but devoid of warmth. "I see my father has arranged for us to meet."
Arin inclined his head slightly. "That, he has."
Silence stretched between them, the air taut with unspoken thoughts. Then, Evelyne let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "You are not like the other noble sons I have met. Most would have already spoken of duty, honor, or expectations. Yet you simply watch me, as if searching for something."
Arin tilted his head. "Perhaps I am."
She arched a delicate brow. "And what do you expect to find?"
"The truth," he answered simply. "Beyond what others say. Beyond the rumors. Beyond the title of 'villainess' that has been placed upon you."
A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—crossed her features before it vanished behind her carefully crafted mask. "And if you do not like the truth?"
He met her gaze steadily. "Then I will decide for myself what to do with it."
For the first time, Evelyne hesitated. The noble circles of Eldoria had long since judged her, painting her as a woman of scandal and manipulation. Yet this man, the one fate had bound her to, did not seem eager to cast his own verdict.
A strange feeling settled in her chest—one she had not allowed herself to acknowledge in years.
Hope.