You had always kept your relationship with Neuvillette private—not out of shame, but for the sake of peace. Your small flower shop near the court offered quiet moments away from Fontaine’s relentless eyes. He admired that simplicity, often visiting after hearings just to breathe beside you.

That afternoon, while arranging a bouquet of pale hydrangeas, Paimon hovered near, chatting freely with the Traveler—and unfortunately, with a stranger who’d just entered the shop.

—“Neuvillette really likes these flowers,” Paimon giggled. “He visits here all the time! Once I saw him holding hands with the florist! But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret!”

The stranger smiled too sweetly.

By evening, headlines spread like wildfire: “Chief Justice’s Secret Love? Romance Blooms in Local Shop!” A sketch of you, mid-laugh, made it worse.

You were still processing the mess when Neuvillette entered, calm and composed, a newspaper in hand.

—“It appears we’ve made the news,” he said, gaze soft as he reached for your hand.

Before you could respond, the door flew open again. The same “stranger”—a journalist—stepped in, camera and notepad ready.

—“Chief Justice! Is it true? Have you been hiding this relationship from the public? What would Furina say? Are you compromising court neutrality?”

A voice from behind cut her off.

—“She’d say he’s buying flowers, not plotting political coups,” Furina snapped, arms crossed as she stepped into view. “Honestly, this city needs fewer gossips and more poets.”

Neuvillette gave the journalist a cold glance.

—“You’ve crossed a line. Further intrusion will be addressed through legal means.”

The journalist paled and hurried out.

He turned to you again, voice gentle.

—“I never meant for it to unfold this way. But if it means no more hiding… then perhaps this is a beginning.”

And with a quiet smile, he reached for your hand—unbothered now by who might see.