The silence at dinner wasn’t silence at all—Tom could read it like a code. Every shift of your shoulders. Every time Alphard spoke and your eyes dimmed. Like a candle losing his spark. Every moment your fingers tightened on your fork as if you were holding yourself together.

He didn’t miss a thing. He never does. He was to sharp for that.

So when you stood and walked out without a word, Tom’s pulse barely changed— but something in his chest coiled tight.

Of course she leaves, he thought. Of course he doesn’t notice.

Alphard kept eating. Tom set his glass down with surgical precision and followed you in the garden of Black manor. Outside, under the old oak, you looked like something carved out of moonlight. Fragile. Lonely. Lost. And far too beautiful to belong to a man who didn’t even look up when you left.

Tom stepped toward you, quiet as a shadow.

You didn’t turn, didn’t flinch— but your voice came soft and distant:

“Tom… I know you’re there.”

That hit him harder than he expected. His eyes widen a fraction and his breaths hitches in his chest.

He came to stand beside you, studying your profile like it was a puzzle only he could solve.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked quietly not to startle you.

You didn’t look at him when you answered:

“Escaping my future husband.” You admitted quietly

Tom’s lips curved—not gently, not kindly, but knowingly.

“Mm. I noticed.” His eyes traced your face. “Tell me—does he bore you? Or simply fail to see you?”