Time passed strangely in Carlton.
Not fast enough to be forgotten, and not slow enough to be endured with ease.
Summer was nearing its end, and the light inside the manor softened—less sharp, as though the sun itself was preparing for a different season. The days began to resemble one another, yet they were not lifeless.
Neris finally finished her work in the library.
It was not a moment of celebration, but rather the feeling of arriving late at a finish line she was not even sure she had wanted to cross. Because the moment she finished, she realized she did not know what her next step was supposed to be.
She remembered standing in the middle of the vast library hall nearly two weeks earlier, gazing at the shelves she had reorganized piece by piece. The books were neatly categorized, the spaces now able to breathe, and the scent had changed—less damp, less heavy.
In a few days, a new shipment of books would arrive. This order was more important than the others, as it included several valuable and rare volumes.
The presence of rare books in a library reflected the power and culture of its master, and so she had chosen carefully. Given the weight of the Dyssehard name, acquiring such books was hardly difficult.
Her thoughts drifted to another memory—one that had surprised her at the time.
She had noticed the changes immediately, though she could not remember when they had happened.
Some of the old shelves, worn down at the edges, were gone. In their place stood dark, solid wood—new, sturdy, finely crafted.
The wooden ladder she used to avoid, afraid it might collapse beneath her weight, had been replaced with another—stable, safe.
She did not remember asking for any of this.
Yet it had all changed.
These were not small adjustments.
When she asked Jason, he answered as though it were obvious.
"The Duke ordered it."
Her hand froze in midair.
"When?"
"A few days ago, when he came to inspect the library. He said the humidity had damaged some of the shelves."
She said nothing.
Only nodded, then returned to arranging the final shelf, as if the words had not struck her directly.
But they had.
That same confusing sensation returned.
That he noticed.
That he intervened.
And that he said nothing.
Her time suddenly felt lighter.
She was no longer required to spend long hours in the library.
The greenhouse, however, still demanded patience—long stretches of time before completion. She had only just begun working on it.
As for the side annex of the manor… the work there was completely finished.
So she decided to inspect it on her own.
The place was quiet, nearly empty, with no sound but the faint whisper of wind. The trees in the back garden had been trimmed; it no longer felt abandoned as before. Some flowers were still trying to bloom.
She walked around the annex, wondering whether she should enter directly or ask for permission from the Duke—or Jason.
She stopped by one of the large glass windows.
She did not intend to peek… but she did.
And she saw him.
Adrian Dyssehard, behind the glass, holding a stack of papers in one hand and his phone in the other.
He was dressed unusually casually: a simple white shirt, no jacket, the top buttons undone. His hair was not carefully arranged, as though he had run his hand through it more than once.
He did not look like a Duke.
He looked like an ordinary man, absorbed in his work.
Her heartbeat shifted.
One step back. Then another.
She turned away quickly, as though she had committed an unintended mistake, and fled before he could see her.
She headed toward the shore without thinking.
She did not know that he had already seen her watching him.
Nor that the moment she disappeared from his sight, he slowly closed his phone, set the papers down, and stared at the glass where she had been standing.
Adrian had not planned to leave.
He had an important meeting scheduled with his company's board; every detail of his day had been calculated with precision.
But something about seeing her disrupted those calculations.
He could not decide what unsettled him more—
the fact that she had been watching him,
or that she had fled immediately.
He was not certain when his curiosity had turned into something that made him stop… then follow.
He knew he had strayed from his path, yet he did not feel it was a mistake.
Edwin spoke behind him.
"Sir? The meeting—"
He turned his head slowly.
"Postpone it."
He did not wait for a response.
He left.
He did not understand why he was walking after her.
He simply was.
The shore was nearly empty.
The sand was slightly cold, the sea calm, the waves short and hesitant.
Neris stood at the water's edge, her shoes removed, one foot touching the sea. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly and breathed deeply, as though trying to calm something restless in her chest.
She heard footsteps behind her.
She turned suddenly.
And froze.
Adrian.
She said nothing.
Neither did he.
They stood there, looking at one another, the sound of the sea filling the space neither of them knew how to cross.
"The weather is changing," he said at last.
She blinked.
"Yes… it seems so."
Another silence.
This was only the second time they had spoken like this—since the day at the café, after she had thanked him and returned to her room.
No orders.
No formal context.
No clear reason.
"How is the work in the greenhouse?" he asked.
"It's going well. But it needs time."
"Everything abandoned needs time," he said quietly.
She watched him from the corner of her eye.
He was looking at the sea, not at her.
And somehow, that made his presence easier.
"That's true. Everything needs patience," she replied softly.
He turned toward her.
"Patience is beautiful," he said. "But life teaches it to us harshly. Still, for some people, it remains the most suitable solution."
His heavy gaze—the one that unsettled her—remained fixed on her, so she quickly looked away and watched the sea instead.
He continued, "The sea is calm today."
"Yes," she replied. "The waves are slow."
She fell silent.
Then she asked, in a quieter voice,
"Why did you come out?"
He did not answer immediately.
He looked at the horizon, then said,
"Because I wanted to."
She supposed he was right. When he wanted something, he did it—no matter the difficulty.
They stood there in silence for a while longer.
Then she said,
"I want to invite my sister. And some friends. I miss them very much."
He turned to her again.
"To the manor?"
"Yes."
She waited.
For objection.
For hesitation.
For a question.
But he only said,
"You may do as you wish."
Time stopped for a moment.
This was not a casual sentence.
It was broader than it seemed.
She looked at him, trying to understand him—but he was calm, as though the decision carried no weight for him.
They returned to the manor together, walking.
They did not speak much.
But the silence was not suffocating.
At the entrance, Edwin approached, and Adrian instructed him to inform the staff to prepare.
When Neris entered her room, she did not feel trapped.
Nor did she feel relieved.
It was as though the space around her was no longer a test—
but something reshaped to include her.
At the first she decided to write a letter to Henry, who hadn't stopped trying to reach her. She granted him permission to come to Carlton as he had wished, and requested that he bring Mary along as well. After that..
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to understand what was happening… and what Adrian truly wanted.
Thoughts flooded her mind, but no answer emerged.
All she felt was her heartbeat, a strange warmth in her chest, and the sense that something larger than herself had begun to coil around her life—something not yet clear.
She did not know when his presence had become this natural.
But she knew one thing only:
The moment she stopped asking herself why she stayed…
was more dangerous than any answer.