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The Encounter
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2025-06-23 00:01:17The silence between them stretched like a taut string, heavy with years of unanswered questions and unspoken truths. Cedric stared at Arla-Rosa, no, Rosa, as she now called herself. A mask shielded her face, but he did not need to see her features to recognize her. He had memorized every curve of her jaw, the softness in her eyes, the quiet defiance she wore like armor. He saw all of that now, tamed but unbroken.
His hands curled into fists at his side. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” Arla-Rosa knelt beside Cassian and Celeste, checking them for any signs of injury. She didn’t look up when she answered. “Would it have changed anything? You didn’t even look at me that morning.”Cassian looked between them, his gaze sharp and observant. Celeste clung to her mother’s arm, sensing something heavy brewing beneath the surface. “You’re right,” Cedric said finally. “I didn’t. I was cold. Detached. That’s how I was taught to be.” Arla-Rosa stood up, br
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The restaurant Cedric chose was tucked discreetly within the hillside gardens of Upper Lencaster, a private rooftop garden eatery surrounded by flowering hedges, the scent of lavender and white rose gently mingling in the air. A soft golden sunset glazed the sky, casting the world in warm, mellow hues.It was the kind of place Rosa would have once dreamed of visiting, before her world had collapsed, before she had known what heartbreak felt like from someone who never even said goodbye. Now, she was sitting at a round table across from that man, Duke Cedric Fleming, the father of her children, and her heart was not sure whether to shatter or settle.Cassian and Celeste were dressed neatly. Cedric had sent over designer outfits, complete with a velvet bowtie for Cassian and a pearl hair clip for Celeste. Arla-Rosa had almost refused, but the twins had pleaded with eyes too hopeful to crush. They wanted this. Celeste nibbled on a buttered dinner roll, swing
The Phoenix Bride Rises: Trust Was Her First Mistake The Encounter
The silence between them stretched like a taut string, heavy with years of unanswered questions and unspoken truths. Cedric stared at Arla-Rosa, no, Rosa, as she now called herself. A mask shielded her face, but he did not need to see her features to recognize her. He had memorized every curve of her jaw, the softness in her eyes, the quiet defiance she wore like armor. He saw all of that now, tamed but unbroken.His hands curled into fists at his side. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” Arla-Rosa knelt beside Cassian and Celeste, checking them for any signs of injury. She didn’t look up when she answered. “Would it have changed anything? You didn’t even look at me that morning.”Cassian looked between them, his gaze sharp and observant. Celeste clung to her mother’s arm, sensing something heavy brewing beneath the surface. “You’re right,” Cedric said finally. “I didn’t. I was cold. Detached. That’s how I was taught to be.” Arla-Rosa stood up, br
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The sun rose shyly over Country D, slipping its golden fingers between the dense clouds that loomed like silent sentinels above the city. The garden behind their temporary estate had begun to thaw from the chill of dawn, dew glistening on leaves like tiny tears. Inside the sunlit nursery, the twins were already up, perched like little foxes at the window, watching the birds."Cassian," whispered Celeste, her tone solemn for an almost four-year-old. "I’m sure of it now." Cassian turned to her, curious. "Sure of what?" "That man. The one we keep seeing. He’s not just anyone. He’s… he’s our daddy." Cassian did not laugh or tease like he usually did. Instead, he nodded slowly. "I think so too."It had been the eyes, they both agreed. And the nose. And that strange tight feeling they got in their chests every time the man looked their way. "But why doesn’t Mama tell us?" Celeste asked, voice small. "Why is she hiding it?" Cassian frowned. "Mama has lots of sec
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The evening air clung to the garden like a velvet cloak, cool, still, and heavy with the scent of blooming night jasmine. Rosa sat by the small window in her temporary estate’s study, nursing a steaming cup of chamomile tea. Her thoughts were a mess. Despite the mask she wore, Cedric had looked at her with searching eyes. He didn’t press again after this morning, but his silence felt more dangerous than confrontation.She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. Her heart had not stopped pounding since she left the palace. The room was silent save for the faint rhythmic breaths of her sleeping children in the adjoining nursery. He’s close to the truth.And what would happen once Cedric knew? Would he demand the twins? Would he try to drag them into the cold world of aristocracy where emotions were a liability?She could still feel the sharp sting of his rejection four years ago, the morning after that cursed night when he handed her
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Cedric could not sleep. Long after the moon had risen and the palace lights had dimmed, he sat alone in his private study, his gaze fixed on the small glass of whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid swirled with every slight movement of his wrist, but he had not taken a sip in hours.His thoughts had been hijacked. By her. Doctor Rosa. Or was it Arla-Rosa? 'No. It can’t be.'But the way her hands had moved, the shape of her eyes behind that mask, the tilt of her head when she listened... It was all too familiar. And that lullaby, he had only heard Arla hum it, once, in that brief window of calm during their short acquaintance.Why would a mountain folk song from Country L, supposedly “taught by a grandmother”, sound identical to Arla’s? Is it her? His mind churned with confusion. And guilt. He remembered how he had tossed her aside, handed her a pill and a black card, not even sparing her dignity. It had been cruel, cold, and inexcusable. But he had been furious at the time. Furious a
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The morning dawned with a cold sharpness that seemed to pierce through the layers of quiet pretense surrounding the palace. Despite the rich golden hues of sunrise painting the Fleming estate’s skyline, Arla-Rosa felt no warmth. Only the weight of tension growing with every step she took toward the Duchess’s treatment chamber. She walked silently behind the escorting maid through a side corridor that had been arranged specifically to prevent her from being seen by noble guests and estate staff. Her hood was drawn low over her masked face, and her steps were practiced, silent, swift, composed. But inside, her thoughts were everything but calm. 'I can’t afford any missteps.' She thought with a furrowed brow. The Duchess’s condition had stabilized overnight thanks to her initial intervention. Still, the deeper issue remained. The palace doctors had failed to identify the root cause, poison. It had been slow-acting, well-disguised, and layered with ingredients so subtle that only som
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