All Chapters of The Man I Once Refused: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

The rain had been falling since dawn, turning the narrow French roads into slick ribbons of mud and sorrow. Inside a modest black carriage, Amelia Fairbourne sat with her gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap, her heart drumming faster than the raindrops against the glass.Six years. It had been six long years since she last saw Ryan Ashford the man whose name she no longer dared to speak aloud. The man she had once refused.The countryside blurred by in shades of grey and green. France was restless the whispers of revolt had long escaped the taverns and markets, spreading into noble halls and servants’ quarters alike. Even the sky seemed heavy with the weight of change.Amelia pressed her fingers to the small locket that hung around her neck a relic of her past, and of him. When she closed her eyes, she still saw that moment on the steps of Fairbourne Manor, the night she broke his heart.> “I cannot, Ryan. My family would never approve.”“Your family?” His voice had been raw, woun

The evening air lay thick with mist, curling through the corridors like whispered secrets. Candles flickered weakly in their sconces, their flames struggling against a draught that carried the scent of rain and distant smoke.Amelia Fairbourne sat by the small window of her chamber, her sewing abandoned in her lap. She could not sleep. Ever since her arrival, something in the château felt… wrong. The servants spoke in hushed tones, their eyes avoiding hers. And Ryan no, Monsieur Ashford had been distant to the point of cruelty.She had known him once as a man of warmth and laughter. Now he spoke in clipped sentences, his gaze unreadable, as if every word cost him a measure of pain.Amelia pressed her fingers to the windowpane. Beyond the glass, the courtyard shimmered with puddles from the day’s rain. Somewhere beyond those gates lay Paris and the rising tide of revolution. She had seen its edges in the villages: bread riots, tricolour flags, whispers of vengeance. France was unraveli

The Abbey rose from the mist like a memory stone walls half lost to ivy, bell tower leaning slightly from age and neglect. The road that led to it was nothing more than mud and broken cobbles, bordered by the bare skeletons of trees.Amelia Fairbourne dismounted, her legs trembling with exhaustion. Her horse snorted softly, as if relieved to stop. The scent of wet earth and woodsmoke hung in the air.A friar approached from the gate, lantern in hand. His brown robes were frayed at the hem; his beard was silvered with age.“Peace be with you, child,” he said in French. “You are far from any safe road. What brings you to Saint-Léon?”“I was told you offer sanctuary,” Amelia replied, her voice hoarse. “Please… I’ve come a long way.”The friar studied her for a moment, then nodded. “All who seek refuge will find it here. Come.”He led her through the courtyard, past cloisters where vines curled around the columns, into a small guest chamber. The walls were cold, but clean; a simple cross