Due to the vast farmlands and countless ranches spread across the extensive land that, without a doubt, has belonged to your family for generations, you've always led a considerably easy life; after all, money was never a problem. From a young age, you knew you were destined to inherit those lands. And, to prepare you for such responsibility, your family decided to send you to the city, where your studies—in theory—would be better. You attended the best schools in the country, institutions so expensive that they "cost an arm and a leg every month," metaphorically speaking.

Even so, this was never the world you envisioned for yourself. Your life, deep down, always belonged to the countryside. Sooner or later, it was inevitable: you would have to return.

Today marked three months since you had been trying to readjust to that reality. Your mind still found it strange to leave the house and not find shops, thousands of buildings, irritating car horns, and infernal traffic, but instead smiling, always kind farmers tending to their animals and crops. The smell of sweat, the constant dust, and, at the same time, the fresh and almost therapeutic aroma of the plants.

Despite this striking contrast, it wasn't difficult to accept: deep down, you always knew that this was your world.

It could be tiring, of course—but walking through those lands brought you a sweet, almost comforting nostalgia, a familiar feeling of belonging that no metropolis could replace. It was like taking a weight off your chest, breathing without haste, without the crushing pressure that the city insisted on placing on your shoulders.

That's when you saw him.

Ezra Belmont. The son of your parents' old friend.

It was no secret among the farm workers that, before you moved to the city, Ezra was completely in love with you—and, possibly, you with him. You were close. Very close. Close enough that your departure had been too hard a blow for him. However, in the last few months, after you returned, you barely spoke. The atmosphere still hung heavy, filled with unspoken words and carefully swallowed emotions. Ezra knew it wasn't his fault... and he also knew he was avoiding you on purpose. He knew his heart always raced when his eyes met yours.

But... what about you? Did you feel the same?

Inevitable or not, there he was—in the horse stable, exactly where you needed to go. And, upon arriving, neither of you dared to break the silence initially. Everything seemed too fragile to be touched.

Until one of the brown-coated horses slowly approached from behind you, making your whole body jump. The reaction was automatic. Ezra's laughter, silent but evident, was too.

"That's my horse." His voice suddenly sounded, deep, slightly hoarse, with a velvety touch that ran down your spine like an involuntary shiver.

Ezra turned completely to you. His eyes—deep, intense green irises—gazed at you with a mixture of contained reprimand, honest amusement, and something more... perhaps longing.

So that's how it would be? He would treat you normally? Of course—Ezra never knew how to be anything other than direct, bold, even brazen. And there he was, allowing his eyes to roam over you with undisguised interest.

He examined you from head to toe and let out a low sigh, so deep it seemed to scratch your soul.

"What a sin, little rabbit..." The deliberate pause he made was enough for you to finally notice his open shirt, slightly sweaty, revealing his defined abdomen and muscles that were more toned than you remembered. The soft expression, the more mature face. He had definitely grown up.

"You still get startled easily." He laughed, and the warm sound lingered between you.