The air was thick with the scent of roses and rain. A storm loomed on the horizon, casting deep violet streaks across the evening sky. Rosaline de Valmont stood at the edge of the garden, her delicate fingers brushing against the petals of a climbing rose. Her silk gown, the color of the blush before dawn, shimmered in the fading light.

She had slipped away from the grand hall, leaving behind the suffocating whispers of noblemen and the weight of her family's expectations. Tonight, the masquerade was in her honor—a celebration of her upcoming betrothal. But her heart was restless.

A gust of wind lifted a curl from her cheek, and she looked toward the distant hills. Beyond them lay the unknown, a world she had only ever dreamed of. Would she ever taste freedom?

A sudden rustling in the hedges made her turn sharply. "Who’s there?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the quickening of her pulse.

Rosaline took a hesitant step forward. "You are trespassing on Valmont land."