The garden didn't belong to the city.
It never had.
Tall iron gates stood open out of habit, not permission. Beyond them, manicured hedges curved with unnatural precision, flowers blooming where they were told to bloom. Every inch of the land breathed control.
This garden belonged to Kade's father.
At the far end, separated by a low stone wall, stretched a private polo ground—wide, empty, waiting.
Kade walked across the grass, his polo bag slung over his shoulder, gloves dangling from his fingers. The sun was low, sharp against his eyes.
He was already irritated. The day felt wrong. Too quiet.
Then he saw her.
Y/N sat on a bench near the old fig tree.
For a second, everything else disappeared.
Kade's lips curved into a smile he didn't give easily—slow, instinctive, almost unconscious. His steps slowed.
She was real. Here. In his space.
He lifted his hand slightly, about to call out—
And then he saw who was sitting beside her.
The smile died.
Not faded.
Not softened.
Dropped.
Like something cut clean off.
A boy. Too calm. Too still. Sitting too close.
Rowan.
Kade stopped walking.
The air around him felt tighter, heavier, like the garden itself had noticed the mistake.
Rowan was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, listening to Y/N as if her words mattered more than the world.
His head tilted at the right angles. His expression was gentle—crafted.
Kade's fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.
That bench.
Out of the entire garden—that bench.
Y/N laughed softly at something Rowan said.
The sound hit Kade like a punch to the ribs.
Rowan smiled back, slow and careful. Then—almost casually—his eyes lifted.
They met Kade's.
For half a second, nothing moved.
Then Rowan's smile changed.
It didn't disappear.
It sharpened.
Kade felt it immediately.
Recognition.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Rowan leaned closer to Y/N and said quietly, "Do you come here often?"
Kade couldn't hear her reply, but he saw her nod.
Rowan glanced back at Kade, just once more, before looking away as if bored.
As if Kade didn't matter.
Kade exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled.
"Wrong," he muttered to himself.
"You're sitting in the wrong place."
He took a step forward.
The gravel crunched under his boot.
Y/N turned first.
Her face lit up when she saw him.
"Kade—"
Rowan stood before she could finish.
Polite. Perfect.
"Hey," Rowan said, offering a hand like this was a coincidence. "Didn't realize this bench was taken."
Kade looked at the hand.
Didn't shake it.
Instead, his gaze dropped to Rowan's wrist.
Bare.
No watch.
No tan line.
A detail that didn't belong.
"This bench," Kade said calmly, lifting his eyes, "belongs to the garden."
Rowan smiled. "Then I guess it belongs to everyone."
Kade stepped closer.
Close enough that Y/N could feel the tension crawl up her spine.
"This garden," Kade continued, voice low, "belongs to my father."
Silence.
Rowan didn't blink.
"That so?" he asked lightly.
"Yes," Kade replied. "Which means nothing that happens here is accidental."
Something flickered in Rowan's eyes.
Interest.
Y/N looked between them. "Do you two… know each other?"
"No," Rowan said at the same time Kade said, "Not yet."
Rowan turned to her, soft again. "I was just leaving."
Kade watched him carefully.
Rowan picked up his bag, but before stepping away, he leaned closer to Y/N and whispered, just loud enough for Kade to hear:
"Be careful who you trust in quiet places."
Then he walked away—unhurried—toward the trees.
Kade didn't move until Rowan disappeared behind the hedges.
The moment he was gone, Kade finally spoke.
"You shouldn't talk to strangers here."
Y/N frowned. "He didn't feel like a stranger."
Kade looked at the path Rowan had taken.
"That's the problem," he said.
Somewhere deep inside the garden, unseen, a man watched from the shade—
and smiled.
Because two lessons had just collided.
And the garden had chosen its side....