The next day, after fulfilling his daily duties, Albert slipped away from the estate, stepping into the bustling town alone.

  No guards. No attendants. Just him.

  It did not take long for murmurs to spread.

  Men and women alike whispered behind gloved hands, eyes discreetly—or not so discreetly—watching him as he walked through the cobbled streets. The heir of House Reo, alone in town? Without escort? Unheard of.

  But Albert paid them no mind.

  His thoughts were elsewhere, his gaze moving keenly over every passing figure. He searched, eyes flicking from face to face, though it felt improper—disgraceful, even—to scan the crowd so openly. And yet, he could not stop.

  He had to find her.

  But where would a woman like her be?

  First, he checked the elegant dress shops, places where fine ladies perused silks and velvets. Then, the jewelry boutiques, hoping to catch even a glimpse of her raven-black attire among the shimmering gold and gems. But she was nowhere to be found.

  His search led him to a quiet bookshop, its wooden shelves stacked high with leather-bound tomes. He entered, pretending to browse, when something caught his attention—no, someone.

  A woman.

  Not her, but a familiar face—someone he had seen by her side before.

  Without hesitation, Albert approached, his posture poised yet unassuming. With a gentle smile, he greeted her.

  "Good day, my lady."

  The young woman startled at first, blinking rapidly as she looked up at him. And then, to his mild amusement, her face turned the color of a blooming rose.

  "L-Lord Reo..." she stammered, barely concealing her surprise.

  He inclined his head politely. "Might I request a moment of your time?"

  The woman hesitated for barely a breath before nodding, eyes still wide with awe. "Of course, my lord! Anything—"

  But before she could finish, another voice cut through the air—firm, unwavering.

  "No. She cannot go with you."

  Albert turned sharply toward the source of the voice.

  And there, standing just behind him, was her.

  The moment Albert laid eyes on her, the world around him faded. His breath hitched—stolen by the sight of the black maiden standing before him.

  She was just as he remembered. No—more than that. More than his mind had dared to conjure in his sleepless, longing dreams. Her lips were drawn into a pout, her dark brows furrowed in what could only be described as pure, unfiltered annoyance. And yet, even in her displeasure, she was breathtaking.

  A slow, involuntary smile curved his lips, one of genuine, helpless happiness. A smile that held no restraint, no noble facade—only the raw, unshakable joy of a man who had found what he didn’t even realize he was searching for.

  She stepped forward, arms folding across her chest, her dark eyes burning with defiance.

  "Do you noblemen truly have nothing better to do than wander about chasing poor women?" she huffed, voice sharp, unafraid. "We are not prizes for you to simply take at whim."

  Oh, what a temper she had.

  Albert should have been offended. Any other nobleman would have been. But instead, he found himself enchanted, his heart thundering in his chest.

  He could only smile deeper—not in arrogance, nor in mockery, but in something far more dangerous. Something he did not dare put a name to just yet.

  "No, fair maiden," he said, his voice soft as the morning breeze, meant only for her ears. "I assure you, I had no such intent. I was merely asking your companion a simple question."

  "A question?" she repeated, her suspicion unrelenting. "No, no. There is always some grand motive behind such things. You noblemen do not simply ask questions without an agenda. It makes no sense."

  Ah, she was sharp.

  Albert exhaled, his amusement flickering in the stormy depths of his eyes.

  "Perhaps you are right," he admitted, the words leaving his lips like a confession. "There was indeed a reason."

  Her lips parted, the air between them charged, heavy with the weight of something unspoken. But before she could demand his intent, Albert did something that no noble of his rank would ever do.

  Slowly, with the grace of a man surrendering to a force beyond himself, he lowered himself onto one knee. The cobblestone beneath him was rough, but he did not care.

  He bowed his head for only a moment before lifting it once more, his gaze locking onto hers, reverent, unwavering.

  "But I have already found the answer to my question."

  She stilled.

  For the first time, the fire in her eyes faltered, replaced by something else—uncertainty, confusion, and just beneath it, something she herself did not yet recognize.

  "Who might you be, fair maiden?" he asked, his voice hushed, intimate, as though the world around them did not exist.

  She hesitated. She was clad in a simple, modest white gown—far from the silks and jewels of noblewomen—and yet, in his eyes, she was more than royalty. She was something untouchable, something divine.

  "A commoner," she finally answered, her voice steady, though her confusion bled into her expression.

  Albert blinked once, then rose.

  Ignoring the wide-eyed, gaping maid beside her, he stepped closer, drawn to her as if by some invisible force.

  Their breaths mingled, close enough that he could see the specks of gold hidden in the depths of her dark irises. Close enough that the scent of wild jasmine and something utterly her filled his senses.

  His voice dropped lower, softer, almost a prayer.

  "I see you as something far greater than a mere commoner."

  A sharp, delighted squeal rang through the air as her friend gasped, drawing the attention of curious onlookers.

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  The sharp squeal had barely faded when the shop’s guards came rushing in, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords as they scanned the commotion. Their eyes landed on Albert, the cause of the small crowd’s murmuring whispers.

  “What’s going on here?” one of them demanded, his tone laced with authority.

  Albert did not flinch. His gaze remained locked onto the black maiden, drinking in the sight of her, as if committing her every detail to memory—the slight parting of her lips, the way her dark lashes fluttered as she blinked, the hint of color blooming on her cheeks.

  Her friend, still standing there with her breath stolen by the moment, was utterly speechless.

  Then, the maiden exhaled sharply and crossed her arms, her expression returning to one of annoyance. “This guy is talking nonsense,” she declared, her voice firm, though there was something beneath it—a tremor of something unspoken.

  The guards hesitated before exchanging glances. That was all the excuse they needed.

  Without ceremony, Albert was promptly dragged away. Yet, even as they pulled him, his feet barely stumbling over the cobblestone, his eyes never left hers.

  And hers, for the briefest of moments, remained on him.

  Then a voice—loud and gruff—cut through the air.

  “Leila! Are you alright?!”

  An older man pushed his way toward her, his features etched with deep concern. From the way he rushed to her side, shielding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, Albert knew—this was her father.

  Leila.

  Albert smiled to himself as the name rolled through his thoughts like a whispered secret. Leila… what a beautiful name.

  He closed his eyes, allowing the syllables to settle in his mind like a melody.

  The next thing he knew, he was unceremoniously thrown in front of his grand estate, landing with a force that would have rattled any lesser man.

  His own guards rushed forward in alarm, their hands reaching out to assess him for injuries.

  But Albert simply smiled, brushing off the dust from his sleeve.

  Because today, he had learned something more valuable than any title, wealth, or power.

  He had learned her name.

  As Albert entered the grand estate, the guards fussed over him, checking for any injuries after his rather unceremonious removal from town. But he barely heard them. His mind was elsewhere—on her. On Leila.

  With a soft chuckle, he waved them off and made his way through the estate, past the towering pillars and marbled halls, until he reached the gardens. The scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass filled the air, grounding him in the moment. He lay down on the soft earth, letting the warmth of the sun kiss his skin as he closed his eyes, replaying every second of their encounter.

  "Leila…" he murmured, tasting her name like the finest wine.

  Footsteps rustled nearby, followed by the familiar voice of his sister.

  "Brother, what’s that smile about?" she asked, amusement laced in her tone. "Could it be… because of someone?"

  Albert opened his eyes, finding his sister standing over him, arms crossed but eyes gleaming with curiosity. He let out a soft sigh, one of a man completely and utterly enchanted.

  "Yes," he admitted, "because of a beautiful maiden I have fallen deeply for."

  His sister's brows lifted in surprise. "You? In love? Now this is interesting." She gracefully lowered herself beside him on the grass, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Tell me, who is this mysterious woman who has captured my brother’s heart?"

  Albert turned his gaze back to the sky, a dreamy look washing over his face. "She is unlike any woman I have ever met. Strong-willed, sharp-tongued… yet captivating beyond words. Her fire burns brighter than any noblewoman’s jewels, and her presence alone feels… different."

  His sister listened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes—perhaps nostalgia, perhaps longing. But she said nothing of it, only nodding with a small, knowing smile.

  Unbeknownst to them, their younger brother stood at a distance, pretending to be uninterested as he leaned against a pillar. But as he listened to Albert speak, a grin spread across his own face. He had never heard his brother sound so alive.

  For once, love was not just a foolish fantasy whispered in the streets—it was real, it was his brother’s reality. And that, in itself, was something worth being happy about.

  As dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pink and gold, Albert and his sister remained in the garden, speaking of love, dreams, and the cruel hand of fate. The warmth of the earth beneath them and the quiet rustling of the trees made it feel as if the world had slowed just for them.

  But soon, the moment came to an end. His sister’s visit was over, and she had to return to the life she had long since resigned herself to.

  Albert and his younger brother walked her to the carriage, the morning air crisp as they bid their farewells. Just as she was about to step in, she turned to Albert, her expression shifting—no longer playful, but solemn, almost wistful.

  "Follow your heart, Albert," she said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Once, I too was a maiden in love, but I let duty and fear silence me. I failed to take the steps you are now taking."

  Albert stilled, sensing the weight behind her words.

  "Now," she continued, glancing toward the grand estate she was forced to return to, "I live in a loveless political marriage, a cage built of expectations and alliances. I wish… I wish I had changed my fate when I had the time."

  For a moment, the world seemed to still.

  Albert saw something in her eyes—regret, sorrow, and a longing for a past that could never be rewritten.

  His grip on her hand tightened slightly, a silent promise that he would not make the same mistake.

  As the carriage pulled away, Albert stood watching until it disappeared into the horizon. His younger brother, unusually quiet, looked up at him and asked, “Will you listen to her?”

  Albert exhaled, a small smile playing on his lips as he gazed at the rising sun.

  "I already am," he murmured, thoughts of a fiery black maiden filling his heart once more.

  Saying their goodbyes, Albert retired to his chambers, the weight of his sister’s words still lingering in his mind. Yet, as he lay in bed, it was not sorrow that filled his heart—but something else, something warmer.

  His thoughts drifted to her.

  Her face, her piercing gaze filled with fire and defiance. The way her brows furrowed in annoyance, the sharpness of her voice as she chastised him. How even in her frustration, she was utterly captivating.

  A soft chuckle escaped him as he turned onto his side, eyes half-lidded, lost in the memory of their encounter.

  "Leila…" he whispered to himself, the name rolling off his tongue like a delicate secret meant only for the night to hear.

  A gentle smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes, hoping—no, yearning—to see her again. If not in the waking world, then perhaps in dreams.

  Albert’s patience had been stretched thin.

  For two days, he had been trapped within the suffocating walls of his estate, drowning in a relentless cycle of meetings, political discussions, and tedious lessons. Every hour of his day was accounted for, every moment suffocated by obligation.

  At first, he had convinced himself it was a coincidence—just an unfortunate string of responsibilities. But the pattern was too deliberate. Too cruelly precise.

  His father was keeping him here on purpose.

  Someone had told him.

  The realization made his stomach twist. Who had betrayed him? The guards at the gate? A watchful servant? His own brother?

  The thought stung. But Albert had no time to dwell on the wound.

  His patience had run out.

  The doors to his father’s study slammed open with a force that sent papers fluttering across the desk. Albert stormed in, his hands fisted at his sides, his chest rising and falling with anger barely held in check.

  His father did not flinch. He did not even look up. Sitting behind his grand desk, he continued writing, his quill gliding smoothly across parchment, as if his son’s fury were nothing more than a passing breeze.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Albert demanded, his voice sharp as steel.

  His father sighed, still not bothering to lift his gaze. "Meaning of what?" he asked, his tone deliberately bored.

  "You know damn well what," Albert snapped. "For two days, you have had me caged like a prisoner, drowning me in work that does not require my attention. I have not had a moment to myself, let alone the chance to step outside this estate." His eyes narrowed. "This is not a coincidence."

  Finally, his father looked up. His piercing gaze was sharp, assessing, and utterly devoid of warmth.

  "It is to keep unwanted attention out of your life," he said smoothly.

  Albert’s hands clenched. His father had never been one to waste words. This was not about his political lessons. This was about something—or someone—else.

  "Unwanted attention?" he repeated, his voice a quiet challenge. "From where? From whom?"

  A slow, deliberate pause.

  Then, his father spoke.

  "Leila."

  The name crashed into Albert like a physical blow.

  His breath hitched.

  His body locked in place, every muscle coiled tight with something between shock and fury.

  But his father wasn’t done.

  "Living at Third Street, House Number Seventeen," he continued, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

  Albert's world tilted.

  His father knew. He knew where she lived.

  "You—" Albert’s voice caught in his throat, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.

  His father’s gaze did not waver. If anything, there was an air of satisfaction in his calm demeanor, as though he had already won this battle before Albert had even stepped into the room.

  "Don’t test me, son," he said, his voice dangerously low.

  Albert could barely breathe. His vision tunneled, the edges darkening under the weight of the unspoken threat.

  "Just do as you are told," his father continued, his expression cold. "And she will be safe."

  The words echoed in the silence, sealing his fate like an iron chain around his throat.

  Albert had never felt so powerless in his life.

  Albert stormed out of his father’s study, his head pounding as frustration clawed at his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, his breaths uneven.

  His father’s words echoed in his mind like a curse.

  "Just do as you are told, and she will be safe."

  He felt powerless. His heart ached as a single question weighed down on him.

  Was his love ever meant to be?