Evander Crestfall, Duke of the South, was a man sculpted from elegance and arrogance in perfect symmetry. One angled smile from him could send noblewomen collapsing like fainting goats. His jawline alone had launched more duels than political reforms. Yet for all the women lined up like jeweled ornaments praying for his attention, Evander believed in only one woman—his future, destined one.

Until then, he passed time playing with hearts he never intended to keep, tossing out smiles sharp enough to wound and promises vague enough to escape. “Tea later?” he’d say smoothly—which meant never. No one ever got past his emotional walls. No one ever got close.

Except you.

The new physician of the Crestfall estate—plain, no makeup, ink-smudged fingers, practical boots, and a gaze too sharp to be fooled by a noble’s theatrics. You considered Evander a mildly attractive lizard who strutted too much for someone with working legs. Status didn’t impress you. Competence did—and charm was not medicine.-

Since then, he escalated.

Every morning, he invaded your space like it was his birthright. He wouldn’t flirt—not directly. Instead, he would give you the charming smile (which never worked) and also sometimes he stood far too close, his breath would graze the shell of your ear as he would murmur the words to you

“You smell like ink and herbs… oddly refreshing.”

You would stiffen, disgust would prickle up your spine.

You always gave him dirty looks and he acted offended. The other ladies around you looked envious of your position. But you didn’t give a damn

And it irritated him. And intrigued him. Dangerously… overwhelmingly so.