Chapter 120: A Meeting with Destiny
Two weeks before Adrian Wycliffe's arrival, the morning bloomed gently with birdsong when Evelyn returned to the estate. She came alone, without fanfare — just a single suitcase and a soft knock on the kitchen door, where Vivienne was peeling pears for jam.
Eva saw her from the hallway and froze, then dashed forward so quickly her slippers nearly flew off.
"Maman!"
She flung herself into Evelyn's arms, burying her face in the fabric of her coat, her small hands gripping tightly at the waist. Evelyn dropped her things at once and embraced her daughter fiercely.
"My little heart," Evelyn whispered into her hair. "I've missed you."
Eva kissed her on both cheeks, then her forehead, then her chin. "Maman, I missed you. I love you. Don't go again."
"I'll stay the whole week this time," Evelyn promised. "Only for you."
Later that morning, she and Vivienne shared tea in the sunroom. The glass panes were thrown open to let in the breeze, and Eva sat curled beside them on the divan, sketching with colored pencils as the grown - ups spoke.
"She's grown even more attached to Yue," Evelyn murmured, watching her daughter draw.
"She always was," Vivienne replied, pouring more jasmine tea into Evelyn's cup. "But lately it's… deeper. Like she's anchoring herself."
Evelyn studied her for a moment. "You're not worried?"
Vivienne smiled softly. "I'm only worried about those who think they can interfere."
"You mean the Wycliffes."
"Of course I do. They think Eva is just some well - read porcelain doll. A chess piece. And Adrian…" She trailed off, stirring her tea, a thin slice of lemon floating near the rim. "Adrian's been raised to believe anything he wants belongs to him."
Eva had perked up at the name. "He's not nice," she announced from her spot. "He smells like Rotten strawberries."
Vivienne and Evelyn both laughed.
That afternoon, Evelyn took Eva to the garden, presenting her with a basket of carefully wrapped snacks from F••••• — caramels, fig biscuits, honeyed almonds. Eva squealed with delight and ran to her room to fetch her own little basket: her special blend of strawberry - vanilla tea leaves and sugar - dusted lemon bites she had made with Mère's help.
"For you, Maman. So you don't forget how much I love you."
Evelyn knelt and kissed her cheek. "As if I ever could."
The visit passed quickly. On the morning Evelyn left again, Eva hugged her fiercely at the front door, trying not to cry. "I'm not sobbing," she whispered hoarsely, chin trembling. "I'm being brave."
"You are," Evelyn said gently, slipping a handkerchief into her hand. "Write me a letter, mon ange. Tell me everything."
Eva nodded. "I will. I'll tell you every moment."
That evening, Eva curled up in bed beside Seraphina. Her shoulders were tight, her breath small. When Seraphina pulled the blanket over them both, Eva pressed her face into her chest.
"She left again today," she murmured.
"I know."
Eva looked up with damp lashes. "Why does she always leave?"
Seraphina kissed the top of her head. "She comes back. And I'm always here."
Eva kissed her back — first on the cheek, then the lips, light and innocent and aching. "Thank you, my protector. My wife. When we get married someday, I'm going to write you a hundred vows."
Seraphina smirked, brushing a lock of hair from Eva's face. "This is your proposal, then?"
Eva nodded seriously. "Yes."
"Then you better keep your promise."
"I will," Eva whispered, hugging her tightly. "I love you more than the sky."
When they fell asleep, they were still holding each other.
*****
The air was heavy with late summer warmth when Adrian Wycliffe arrived at the Ainsley estate. His visit was announced a week in advance, and yet it rippled through the halls like a sudden wind, unsettling and bold. Eva had known, of course — Vivienne never kept things from her for long — but she hadn't thought much of it.
Adrian was someone she had encountered once before, when she was barely five, at a formal reception hosted by one of her father's business allies. He had been tall, older, loud, and strange. She had played the piano for that crowd, and he had tried to talk to her afterward, calling her "the prettiest thing in the room."
At the time, Eva had simply walked away.
She remembered his flushed face and puffed - up pride. It had made her feel strange — like she was being watched and claimed. She didn't like it then, and she wasn't looking forward to it now.
Vivienne, naturally, had her suspicions. The Wycliffes were a proud family — wealthy, entitled, and eager to forge alliances. With Eva's true identity hidden under the name "Ainsley," they didn't know the full weight of whom they were dealing with. And Vivienne planned to keep it that way.
Still, it was clear Adrian hadn't forgotten her.
"Adrian Wycliffe will be arriving at noon," Vivienne told Eva over breakfast, stirring her tea calmly. "You've met him before. He seems to think he made quite the impression."
Eva wrinkled her nose. "He smells like spoiled strawberries."
Seraphina laughed softly, slicing into her toast. "You remember his scent?"
"He wore too much cologne," Eva muttered. "And he stared. Not the way Ina stares at me. He was…" She struggled for the word. "Possessive."
Vivienne raised a brow in amused agreement. "Yes. That's the Wycliffe boy. Pretentious and premature. His parents seem to think he deserves a duchess for breakfast."
"Then let him eat a statue," Eva said, pushing her plate away. "He'll find it more obedient."
That earned her a smirk from Vivienne and a quiet brush of fingers across her hand from Seraphina. "Just remember," Seraphina murmured gently, "you're not something to be claimed."
Eva's heart fluttered. She knew. She knew, of course. But it always meant more when Seraphina said it.
The car arrived just past noon, polished to a mirror's shine. Adrian stepped out first, his dark hair slicked back, and his tailored jacket buttoned like he imagined himself a young duke. He was thirteen now and carried himself with the unearned confidence of a boy told too often that he was extraordinary.
Eva stood on the landing of the staircase when he entered, Vivienne behind them like a sentinel.
Adrian's eyes went straight to Eva.
"You," he said, lips curling in a smile he likely practiced in mirrors. "So it wasn't a dream."
Eva crossed her arms. "You're louder than I remember."
"And you're more beautiful," he replied without missing a beat.
Vivienne's smile thinned. "Charming."
The Wycliffes entered with smiles polished and hollow. They exchanged pleasantries with the Langfords, utterly unaware of the cautious glances Vivienne gave them. The Langfords, gracious as ever, returned the formalities with warmth that never quite reached their eyes. Their departure had already been planned — a business trip abroad, urgent and unavoidable.
They offered their goodbyes to Seraphina with careful affection, her mother smoothing back a strand of hair behind her ear, her father placing a gentle kiss on her temple. There were no grand displays, only quiet rituals — words that had the weight of habit, and eyes that lingered just a beat too long.
Seraphina stood still, expression serene, though Eva saw the way her fingers curled against the silk of her dress. When the Langfords finally turned to go, Eva took a step closer, her presence a steady shadow beside her.
Vivienne left the room soon after, entertaining Adrian's parents elsewhere, her eyes flicking once to Eva before disappearing into the west wing.
Adrian didn't care for adult conversations — his attention rarely left Eva. He tried to walk beside her as they moved to the drawing room. She shifted closer to Seraphina, their hands almost touching.
He noticed.
"Still hiding behind your moon?" Adrian teased, tilting his head at Seraphina.
Eva replied before Seraphina could. "If she's a moon, then I'm the shadow."
Seraphina blushed, and Adrian's smirk faltered.
They had tea in the sunlit parlor, where Adrian boasted about his fencing lessons and the Wycliffe estate's library. Eva listened politely, responding only when forced. When he asked about her music, she gave short, curt answers. When he asked if she remembered their first meeting, she simply said, "Vaguely. I remember you liked to talk."
He laughed, too loudly.
Later in the garden, Adrian challenged Seraphina to a fencing match. "Come on," he said, waving the foil. "Let's see if the Lady of the Moonlight has teeth."
"I do," Seraphina said calmly, taking the other blade.
Eva watched from the veranda, clutching a glass of lemonade.
The match lasted four minutes. Adrian lunged, missed, bragged mid - parry, and then promptly found himself flat on the ground with the tip of Seraphina's foil pressed to his chest.
"You cheated," he gasped.
"I won," she replied.
Eva ran to her and hugged her fiercely. "My knight," she whispered. "You always protect me."
Adrian glowered from the ground. "I'd be a better choice than her. You're wasting your time with the false moon."
Eva turned slowly. "Seraphina is not the moon," she said. "She is my light. You are only noise."
The next morning, Adrian sought her out in the corridor. He stood at the foot of the stairs as if he belonged there, hands folded behind his back.
"I'll be back," he said without preamble. "And next time, I'll bring you something beautiful. Something worthy of you."
Eva regarded him coolly. "I already have everything I want."
He raised a brow. "You think you don't belong to anyone, don't you?"
"I don't belong," she said, "I am."
Then she turned her back and walked away.
He watched her go, frustration simmering beneath his polished exterior. He had come expecting a simple girl. But Eva was not simple. She was fire wrapped in silk, and he couldn't understand her. Not yet.
Later that day, Vivienne found Eva in the garden, sitting beneath the old linden tree with her notebook. She was writing something — poetry, no doubt. Always, when her thoughts were too loud, she wrote.
"Gone already?" Eva asked without looking up.
"Yes," Vivienne replied. "The estate is quiet again."
"Good."
Vivienne smiled. "You handled yourself well."
"I told you. I'm not a prize."
Vivienne crouched beside her. "No, sweetheart. You're a kingdom."
Eva looked up, eyes bright. "Then Ina's my queen."
Vivienne chuckled. "Then may your reign be long, little empress."
And Eva, pleased, returned to her poem:
Imperium cordis, sub luce oculorum
Thronum tenet, quae me risu ligavit.
Non auro, non regno vendor —
Sed in silentio, ubi manus sua manet.
(The empire of the heart, beneath the light of her eyes
Holds the throne, she who bound me with laughter.
I am not sold for gold, nor for a kingdom —
But in silence, where her hand remains.)