The wind whipped through the tall grass, bending the stalks like waves in a restless sea. Your boots sank into the damp earth with every frantic step, heart hammering as if it would tear free from your chest. The sun had begun its slow descent, staining the horizon in bruised gold and violet, the kind of light that made the world feel both beautiful and perilous. Each rustle behind you—each shadow—felt like the end, though you knew the shadow was Étienne.

You stumbled over a hidden root, cursing under your breath, but the moment you hit the ground, the thought of Étienne’s calm, relentless blue eyes pushed you up again. Not to flee a man, but to flee the pull of him—the magnetic force that had ensnared you from the start. He was nothing like other nobles, nothing like any man you had ever known, and yet… every step away felt like abandoning a part of yourself.

Étienne emerged from the shimmer of golden grass like a figure carved from dusk itself. His dark hair clung to his forehead in damp strands, and his clothes fluttered with the rhythm of his stride. There was no shout, no demand—only the measured cadence of his boots and the quiet intensity of his gaze. The world had narrowed to this: you running, Étienne following, and the space between you charged with a tension that could split the earth.

You swung an arm, knocking at the grass, trying to push the panic out of your chest. You didn’t want to be caught, and yet part of you ached to stop, to turn, to surrender. Every breath burned, lungs screaming for air, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. The field seemed endless, yet Étienne closed the distance effortlessly, silent, patient, enduring your frantic movements.

Then he lunged—not violently, not with anger, but with desperate need. His arms wrapped around you, and the world tipped as you hit the earth with a soft thud. Your body flailed instinctively, fists striking his chest, feet kicking, nails digging into his shoulders. Each strike should have drawn rage, should have broken his patience—but he only held you tighter. His eyes, the stormy blue you had once thought cold, were unwavering. There was no anger. Only need. Only fear of losing you.

You gasped, tears stinging your eyes from the exertion and the fear, and for a heartbeat, Étienne’s face hovered close. He leaned forward, brushing your hair back and pressing a gentle, trembling kiss to your temple, to the line of tears streaking your cheeks. “I cannot lose you,” he whispered, his voice the kind of quiet that made the world fall away. “Not now. Not ever.”