The evening had taken on a dull rhythm, the sounds of the orchestra blending with the polite murmur of conversation. Caesar had made his rounds, fulfilling his duties as the Duke, but his mind was still restless. His eyes kept flicking back to where Marianne stood across the room, engaged in conversation with a small group of guests.

  He could hardly tear his gaze away from her. It wasn’t just the fact that she was so strikingly beautiful, there was always a pull, like gravity to earth, like a moth to flame that his eyes would always wander back to her, always exuding an effortless grace she learned when the two of them were growing up together. It was the way she had transformed in these past five years, the way she had seamlessly woven herself into a world he had never imagined she would belong to.

  It was then that he overheard a conversation not too far from where he stood.

  "Ah, Marianne," the voice of the Marquis’ wife floated through the air, light and pleasant, "I must introduce you to these fine young men. You simply must meet them."

  Caesar’s attention sharpened. His gaze locked onto the group she was standing with, drawn to the gentle way the Marquis’ wife was guiding her through the crowd. Marianne’s posture remained as perfect as ever, her head slightly tilted in polite attention as the lady spoke.

  The Marquis' wife continued, her voice smooth but filled with a certain pride, "Marianne has been an invaluable asset to my household. Her grace and intellect are simply unmatched, and the children adore her. She is, after all, a true example of how someone can elevate themselves beyond their beginnings."

  Caesar’s breath hitched. The words were casual, but the weight they carried struck him deeply. Beyond her beginnings.

  Marianne had always been... well, Marianne. His childhood companion. The girl who had grown up with him, playing games and sharing secrets. She had never been anything but that to him. But now, to hear her described as someone who had elevated herself—it was a sharp reminder of how had grown into someone he never thought she could.

  He took a slow step closer, careful not to be seen, though his heart beat erratically in his chest. The small group was still gathered around her, and Marianne was being introduced to the new faces of high society—bachelor sons of noble families, and young men eager to find suitable companions. He watched as they approached her, the way they seemed instantly captivated by her presence.

  There was no denying it. Marianne was every bit the lady, despite her humble beginnings. Her beauty, though subtle, was undeniable. It wasn’t the kind of beauty that demanded attention or made the room stop, but the kind that slowly worked its way into your mind and took root. She had a quiet radiance about her, one that made her stand out not just because of her appearance, but because of the way she carried herself. The way she spoke, the way she held herself in any room—always poised, always composed. She was smart, he always knew that ever since she would stand in the doorway of his study room when they were young, listening to his teachers and learning in the process. She was a presence. And now, it was impossible for anyone to ignore her.

  Caesar felt a strange pang in his chest, a mixture of pride and jealousy swirling together. Marianne had always been beautiful to him—his Marianne, the girl who had been the only constant in his chaotic childhood. But seeing her now, in the midst of high society, being admired and courted by men far more worthy of her than he ever had been... it struck him like a blow.

  And the young men surrounding her—they were captivated. Each one of them looked at her as though she were something to be won, to be claimed, as if her quiet dignity was a challenge they had to conquer. He could see it in their eyes—the subtle admiration, the way they hung on every word the Marquis’ wife said- boasting about Marianne’s helpful presence in the marquisate, their expressions shifting to something far more intense as she responded with her usual calm grace and soft smile.

  “Miss Marianne,” one of the young bachelors, tall and broad-shouldered, said with a charm that came too easily, “I must say, you are an absolute vision. I have heard so much about you, and now I see why. You are, without a doubt, truly someone admirable.”

  Marianne’s smile was warm but polite, her posture never shifting from the poised elegance she had cultivated when she was growing up with the young Duke of Alderson. “Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, her voice never wavering. “You are too kind.”

  Caesar’s chest tightened. He hadn’t been expecting it, but the words stung. Absolute vision? She had been many things to him, but to hear others speak of her as if she were some object to be admired... It felt wrong.

  He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the scene before him, as though the very act of looking at her through the lens of another man’s eyes would be too much to bear. Yet, despite his efforts, he found his attention drawn back to her again and again, his mind swirling with thoughts he didn’t want to entertain.

  She was a woman now. Not just a maid, not just a childhood friend, but a woman who had flourished in this world that was never foreign to him—the world of the nobility, the world where she admired yet never desired. The world that she seemed to belong to now. It was as though the space between them had shorten, not just in distance but in essence yet she still felt so far away. And he needed her, yet he wasn’t sure in what aspect in his life.

  Marianne’s gaze flicked briefly over the crowd, as though searching for something or someone. Caesar tensed, wondering if she might spot him, but before he could react, her eyes moved on. She smiled at the young bachelor who had spoken to her, and the conversation continued.

  The Marquis’ wife was still hovering nearby, clearly proud of how well her charge was fitting into the high society she had been introduced to. Caesar couldn’t help but notice how the older woman’s gaze seemed to linger on Marianne with a look that could only be described as ownership—almost as if she were savoring the sight of the young woman’s success in navigating a world she could only dreamed of.

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  But as he watched her again, speaking softly with the men around her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still the same person beneath it all. The same Marianne who had once laughed with him in the gardens, the same Marianne who had looked after him when he was a child. She was different, yes, but was she truly his anymore? He could no longer be certain.

  The thought hit him like a hammer.

  Was she ever really mine to begin with?

  As he stood there in the shadows, watching her, Caesar felt the heavy weight of something he could no longer ignore: the knowledge that he needed to have her back in his life. Not just because she had left Alderson, but because she had moved on in ways he hadn’t expected.

  For the first time in a long time, Caesar felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: possessiveness. And it gnawed at him, deep and unrelenting, as he realized just how much he had to have her back— thoughts gather in his mind on what he had to do in order to make it happen.

  —

  Caesar’s hand clenched around the glass of wine in his hand as he watched the young men fawn over Marianne. They were hanging on her every word, their smiles too eager, their eyes too admiring. His gaze flicked between them and her, noting how she handled their attention with the same poised grace she had always exhibited, yet beneath it, he could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her lips held a polite but detached smile. She was being suffocated by them—by their obvious interest, by the way they couldn’t seem to stop trying to impress her. And though she was maintaining her composure, Caesar could see it—she was uncomfortable.

  His chest tightened with something he couldn’t quite identify. Possessiveness? Jealousy? Or was it simply the strange, unfamiliar feeling of helplessness, watching her so distant, so removed from him, and yet so close to these men who seemed intent on claiming her attention? He didn’t know, but one thing was clear—she didn’t belong in this circle of eager admirers.

  With a single, determined step, Caesar pushed through the crowd, his eyes locked on Marianne. He couldn’t stand the sight of her being so cornered, so scrutinized. His feet moved of their own accord, as though his body had long ago learned to act before his mind could fully grasp what he intended.

  As he neared the group, he could hear one of the young men continue to speak, his voice dripping with false charm. “...And I must say, Miss Marianne, your beauty is unmatched. Truly, a woman of your poise must have received the finest education. The arts, music, literature—you must be well-versed in them all, no?”

  Marianne’s smile never wavered, but there was a certain weariness in her eyes. “I have indeed had the privilege of learning many things,” she replied softly, “though I am hardly deserving of such high praise have I not learned from the Alderson duchy..”

  Caesar arrived just in time to hear the next young man, another eager bachelor, speak up. “Perhaps we could discuss the finer arts together over tea sometime?” he suggested with a suggestive smile. The other men nodded, as though this were an invitation she couldn’t refuse.

  It was then that Caesar’s voice broke through the noise of the gathering, clear and commanding, like the strike of a bell. “Miss Marianne.”

  The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment. The young men, caught off guard, turned toward him, their expressions shifting from curiosity to recognition. Caesar’s presence had that effect—people rarely missed him. His posture was tall, regal, and every inch of him exuded authority. But it was the way his azure gaze focused on Marianne that made everything else fade into the background.

  She turned to him, her expression shifting from polite detachment to something warmer, yet guarded. Her eyes softened slightly as she met his gaze, and for a brief moment, the noise of the room seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them.

  “Your Grace,” she said, her voice cool but respectful, with a small nod.

  Caesar didn’t waste a moment. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Marianne?” he asked, his tone polite but firm, his gaze unyielding. “I’m sure you could use a reprieve from the... admiration of these fine young men.”

  Her lips twitched, a small hint of surprise flickering in her eyes before she masked it with a polite smile. The young men, sensing the shift in the air, gave way, murmuring polite farewells as Caesar extended his arm toward her. They watched in silence as the young Duke of Alderson had reached out to the young tutor, but Caesar could feel the faint pulse of their jealousy radiating from them.

  Marianne hesitated for only a moment, and in that pause, Caesar saw the conflict in her eyes—the same conflict he had noticed earlier, when she had tried to deflect their attention with her usual composure. But then, with a graceful movement, she took his arm.

  “It would be an honor,” she said, her words soft but carrying an undertone of something he couldn’t quite place—perhaps a hint of relief.

  The moment her fingers brushed against his arm; Caesar’s chest tightened. It was a simple touch, one that was nothing more than a courtesy in the moment, yet it felt like an anchor, pulling him into a time when things had been simpler. Back when Marianne had been more than just a subject of admiration, when she had been his friend, his confidant, someone who had never required him to be anything other than who he was. But those days were long gone.

  As they made their way onto the dance floor, Caesar’s mind was filled with an unsettling mix of emotions—desire, regret, longing, and an aching sense of loss. Marianne was here with him, yes, but she was a different person now. And yet, when she placed her hand lightly in his, when he felt the familiar warmth of her skin against his, all of those thoughts melted away.

  They began to move together in a slow waltz, the music surrounding them, filling the space between them with a gentle rhythm. Caesar could feel her body close to his, the delicate scent of her perfume drifting to him. The connection between them, though fragile, was undeniable.

  For a brief moment, it felt as though time had reversed. As though they were not standing in the midst of high society, not surrounded by a room full of curious onlookers, but back in the quiet, private world they had shared so long ago. Back when it had just been the two of them, with no title and no expectations—only friendship, only the simplicity of their connection.

  But Marianne’s gaze was distant, focused on the dance steps, her movements graceful but controlled. She wasn’t entirely with him—not in the way she once had been. The familiar spark in her eyes was dimmed, and though she was with him in body, her mind seemed to be somewhere else.

  Caesar couldn’t help the pang of frustration that stirred inside him. He wanted to ask her why she had left. Why she had disappeared from his life without a word. But now, in this dance, with all eyes upon them, he couldn’t afford to show the vulnerability he had so carefully hidden away.

  Instead, he kept his focus on the rhythm of the waltz, on the feel of her hand in his, and on the small, fleeting hope that perhaps, in this moment, they could bridge the distance between them—if only for the briefest of seconds.

  “Miss Marianne,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice low and controlled. “It’s been too long.”

  Her gaze flicked to his, the barest hint of a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Indeed, Your Grace,” she replied softly. “Too long.”

  The words lingered in the air between them, heavy with meaning, and for a moment, it felt as though the whole world had faded away, leaving just the two of them, caught in the quiet tension of a past that neither of them could fully escape.