The grand halls of House Valmont stood as they always had—imposing yet weathered, a reflection of the noble family that resided within. Arin stepped through the entrance, his boots echoing against the marble floors, his gaze fixed ahead.
It had been a month since he had last seen her.
A month since he had left for training, since he had immersed himself in memories of a life long past. He had expected to change during that time, but he hadn't anticipated how much his perspective would shift. The weight of his past life pressed heavier upon his shoulders now, intertwining with the fate of this world. And at the center of it all stood Evelyne Valmont—the woman whose life he had sworn to rewrite.
His hands clenched at his sides as he followed the steward through the halls. The closer he got to her, the more keenly he felt the unfamiliar weight in his chest. He was not the same Arin who had bid her farewell a month ago. He was not merely a noble fulfilling an engagement; he was a man carrying the burden of knowledge, of responsibility, of a fate he had chosen to defy.
At last, the steward stopped before a set of double doors.
"She is expecting you, my lord."
Arin gave a brief nod, steadying his breath before stepping inside.
The room was dimly lit, the scent of lavender lingering in the air. Evelyne stood by the window, her figure bathed in the pale glow of the setting sun. She did not turn at his entrance, did not acknowledge him immediately. Instead, she remained still, her posture rigid, as if bracing herself.
Arin took a step forward. "Evelyne."
At last, she turned.
Her violet eyes met his, unreadable as ever, yet something about her felt… different. He had memorized the sharpness of her gaze, the way she wielded it like a blade to keep others at bay. But today, there was something else—an uncertainty, a hesitation she had never let slip before.
"You're back." Her voice was steady, but he could hear the slightest shift in tone, the way it was just a fraction softer than it should have been.
"I am."
Silence stretched between them, a quiet battlefield neither wished to cross first. It was strange—after a month apart, there was so much to say, and yet words felt inadequate.
Evelyne's gaze flickered downward, just for a second. A brief tell. "You've changed."
Arin exhaled slowly. "I have."
The memories of his past life had solidified within him, no longer fragmented pieces but a coherent whole. He understood now why he had fought so hard back then, why he had refused to give in despite everything. And here, in this life, he had been given the chance to act before tragedy struck.
His gaze softened. "And so have you."
She stiffened slightly at that, her fingers curling at her sides. "Don't be ridiculous. Nothing about me has changed."
Liar.
She had changed. Even if she couldn't see it herself, he could.
The Evelyne he had met before had been cold, distant—a woman who had buried herself beneath layers of thorns, who had refused to let anyone get close. But now… there was something in the way she stood before him, the way she did not immediately throw up her defenses. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
He had spent the last month analyzing everything he knew about her. Her strengths, her struggles, the cruel fate she had suffered in the novel's original path. And most importantly, her power—the manifestation of her very soul.
The Duskbound Wisteria.
A power as beautiful as it was terrifying. Unlike conventional abilities, Evelyne's manifested as an ethereal tree with cascading violet blossoms, each petal imbued with a force that could unravel illusions, dispel falsehoods, and strip away deceit. It was a power that saw through masks—one that no liar could stand against.
It was no wonder the world feared her.
It was no wonder she had been cast as the villainess.
He had come to understand her far more than he had before, and with that understanding came an unshakable resolve.
"Evelyne," he said, stepping closer. "You don't have to pretend with me."
Her eyes narrowed, her mask slipping for just a fraction of a second before she schooled her expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Arin merely smiled, the kind of smile that was neither mocking nor condescending, but one that carried quiet certainty.
"You do."
Another beat of silence. Then, for the first time since he had walked in, she sighed—a real sigh, not the careful, calculated gestures she often used.
"This engagement is still nothing more than politics," she murmured, as if trying to remind herself of that fact. "Nothing has changed."
Arin tilted his head. "If that were true, would we be having this conversation?"
She stilled, lips pressing into a thin line.
"I told you before," he continued, voice steady. "I won't let you fall."
Her breath hitched. Just slightly, but enough for him to notice.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she turned back to the window, her fingers brushing against the cold glass. "You're insufferable," she muttered.
And yet, there was no venom in her words. No sharpness. Just something tired, something quiet.
Arin took that as a victory.
The month apart had changed many things. But what mattered most was this—Evelyne Valmont was no longer alone in her fight.
And he would make sure she never would be again.