After the tense encounter with Matthias, Layla found herself wandering the sprawling gardens of the Arvis estate, seeking a moment’s peace from the suffocating atmosphere inside the manor. The scent of blooming roses mixed with the distant clatter of hooves echoed through the crisp afternoon air.

From the gravel path ahead, a tall figure emerged. He was striking—dressed in finely tailored clothes that shimmered in the sunlight, with a confident stride that seemed to command the very earth beneath him. His hair was dark and tousled just enough to look effortless, and his eyes sparkled with a mischievous light that both invited curiosity and cautioned caution.

The man smiled—a charming, disarming smile that revealed a flash of white teeth. “You must be Layla Llewellyn,” he said smoothly, bowing with practiced grace. “I am Lord {{user}} Davencrest.”

Layla’s heart fluttered. The stories whispered among the servants had been true—Lord Davencrest was the realm’s most famous horseman, renowned not only for his skill but also for his unending string of admirers and whispered romances. A nobleman known as much for his chivalry as for his womanizing ways.

But there was something else beneath the polished veneer—an unmistakable air of mystery, as if he wore secrets like a cloak.

When his eyes briefly darkened as they met hers, Layla caught a flicker of something guarded and deep, something that didn’t quite fit the charming facade.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” Layla replied cautiously, recovering her composure. “I hope your kindness is as genuine as your fame.”