Beneath the tree

The afternoon sun draped the Bennett estate in a deceptive warmth, as if the world outside its high walls were ordinary and untouched by the undercurrents that ran between its inhabitants. Evelyn had wandered farther than she intended, her sandals brushing over the neat gravel path that led to the garden’s heart.

She wasn’t sure why she had chosen this route. Perhaps it was to escape the polite but sharp conversations in the sitting room, or maybe because the silence outside was less suffocating than the silence inside. The air smelled faintly of rain from earlier in the morning, mingled with the heavy sweetness of blooming magnolias.

The magnolia tree loomed ahead, its branches stretching wide like an open embrace and a warning at the same time. Beneath it, a figure stood — tall, composed, and utterly still — as if he had been waiting.

Lucien.

He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the fabric pulling slightly across his shoulders when he shifted. His dark hair caught the sunlight, revealing strands of deep brown among the black. But it was his gaze that rooted her in place — steady, assessing, almost too intent for comfort.

“You came farther than I expected,” his voice was calm, yet something in it made her skin prickle.

“I didn’t realize I was trespassing,” she replied, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

“You’re not.” His eyes flicked toward the petals scattered at her feet. “This part of the garden… no one comes here much.”

She swallowed, aware of the strange stillness around them. Even the breeze seemed to pause. “And you? Do you often stand here alone?”

Lucien’s mouth curved into a small, humorless smile. “Sometimes solitude is the only company worth having.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “That sounds… lonely.”

“Not all loneliness is a burden.” His gaze lingered on her face, as if reading more than her words. “Sometimes it’s safer than the alternative.”

There was weight in his voice, like he was speaking from a place she couldn’t see. She should have turned then, should have left before that weight settled over her too — but she didn’t.

“What’s the alternative?” she asked softly.

His eyes darkened. “Getting close to someone you shouldn’t.”

Her breath caught before she could stop it. The air between them tightened, and she became acutely aware of how few steps separated them. He didn’t move closer, but the force of his attention felt like he had.

Evelyn tried to disguise the quickening of her pulse. “You say that like it’s happened to you.”

Lucien’s jaw shifted, the only sign of something unguarded breaking through. “Perhaps.”

Her heart thudded. “Perhaps isn’t an answer.”

“And yet it’s all I’ll give you.” His gaze swept over her, lingering at the edge of propriety. “Some truths are… dangerous.”

Dangerous. The word echoed in her head like a warning bell. And still, she found herself taking one step forward, then another, until she could smell the faint trace of cedar and something darker clinging to him.

“Why do I feel like you’re warning me away and pulling me closer at the same time?” she murmured.

“Because both are true,” he said, and this time there was no distance in his voice — only the low, intimate roughness that made her stomach twist.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The petals above them shivered as a breeze finally passed through, sending a few drifting down like pale confetti. One landed on Evelyn’s shoulder, and before she could brush it off, Lucien reached out.

His fingers grazed her collarbone as he plucked the petal away. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a ripple through her that she didn’t dare acknowledge aloud.

“You should go back,” he said quietly.

She should. She knew it. But her feet stayed where they were, rooted under the magnolia tree with him.

And then — movement at the periphery. A shadow at the house.

Evelyn’s gaze flickered upward and caught the narrow frame of Ava standing by the second-floor window. Her friend’s expression was unreadable, but the tilt of her head suggested she had seen enough to draw her own conclusions.

Evelyn’s chest tightened. She stepped back, putting space between herself and Lucien.

“I should go,” she said, this time managing to make herself turn.

Lucien didn’t stop her, but his voice followed her retreat. “Some things, Evelyn… once you start, you can’t undo.”

The words clung to her all the way back to the house, long after she had lost sight of him, and even longer after Ava’s figure had vanished from the window.