C H A P T E R T W E L V E
FIGHT OR FLIGHT
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The carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of Bridgerton House, its grandeur always striking no matter how many times the Davison family had visited. As the footmen rushed to assist, Cecilia Davison was the first to step down, her eyes scanning the entrance with eager anticipation. Then, as if time itself paused, she spotted Francesca Bridgerton at the top of the steps.

"Francesca!" Cecilia gasped, her voice full of joy as she sprinted toward her.

"Cecilia!" Francesca's eyes lit up.

Without hesitation, she broke into a run, and Cecilia, unable to contain her excitement, did the same. They collided in a warm embrace, both laughing as they held each other close, almost as if no time had passed between them.

"Oh, how I've missed you!" She exclaimed, squeezing Francesca tightly.

Francesca laughed, returning the embrace warmly. "I've missed you more!" She said, her voice filled with fondness. After a long hug, Francesca let go and turned toward Emmaline, her eyes lighting up. With a grin she hurried toward her. "Emmaline!" She dashed into Emmaline arms.

"Welcome home, Francesca," Emmaline whispered, hugging her tightly. "We've all missed you so much."

Francesca grinned as she pulled back slightly, her joy contagious. "It feels so good to be back."

Soon, the Davison family was ushered into the drawing room, where the atmosphere buzzed with laughter and conversation. Francesca seated herself at the piano and beckoned Cecilia to join her.

"I've been working on a new song," Francesca said, smiling as she gestured toward the keys. "Would you like me to teach it to you?"

Cecilia's eyes widened with delight. "Yes, please!" she replied, eagerly sitting beside Francesca, her fingers gently hovering over the keys as Francesca began to play the first few notes.

The melodic sounds of the piano filled the room as Francesca patiently guided Cecilia through the new piece while the rest of the Bridgertons and Davisons mingled. Meanwhile, across the room, Oliver and Joshua were deep in conversation with Colin. On the other side of the drawing room, Cornelius Davison and Benedict Bridgerton were playfully pestering Eloise, attempting to steal one of the chocolates she was holding.

"You two are incorrigible!" Eloise cried, swatting Benedict's hand away. "Find your own sweets!"

"You make it too easy, El." Cornelius teased, dodging her as he finally snagged a chocolate.

Meanwhile, across the room, Emmaline sat on a plush settee with Anthony, their shoulders nearly touching. Their conversation flowed easily; despite their kiss by the lake, things between them felt surprisingly... normal.

She had feared things might grow awkward between them, but it seemed nothing had changed, and for that, she was grateful, though her heart fluttered each time their eyes met.

"So, have you managed to keep out of trouble since our last encounter?" Anthony teased, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Emmaline shot him a playful glare. "If by trouble you mean you, then yes, I've done quite well."

He chuckled, nudging her shoulder gently. "You wound me, Emmaline. I'm the epitome of good behavior."

"Hardly,"she shot back, rolling her eyes. "You're as much trouble as you've always been."

He leaned in closer, his voice lowering into a teasing whisper. "Perhaps, but you like it."

She laughed, giving him a playful punch on the arm. "Oh, be quiet, Anthony."

He grinned, rubbing the spot where she'd punched him. "I suppose I deserved that."

Emmaline leaned back against the settee, crossing her arms as she regarded Anthony with a mischievous smile. Anthony, seated beside her, seemed to be deep in thought, but she could tell by the faint twitch of his lips that he was planning his next teasing remark. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't act coy with me Anthony, I know when you are up to something? "

He glanced at her, feigning innocence. "Me? I would never."

She raised a brow. "Mm-hmm, that's exactly what someone coy would say."

He leaned closer, his tone conspiratorial. "And what makes you think I'm up to something?"

"You've been plotting since the day you could walk," Emmaline replied with a smirk. "Remember when we were children, and you convinced Daphne that hiding in the attic was a grand idea, just so you wouldn't have to share your sweets with her?"

Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. "Daphne fell for that because she wanted to prove she was braver than all of us. That had nothing to do with me."

"Oh please," she teased, "you've always been the mastermind behind every bit of trouble."

He folded his arms, playing along. "You wound me, Emmaline. Here I thought you saw me as an upstanding gentleman of the ton."

Emmaline's laugh rang out. "You? Upstanding? I'm not sure that word applies to someone who's been banned from White's more times than I can count."

Anthony raised a brow, leaning back with a smug smile. "Ah, but they keep letting me back in, don't they?"

Their easy banter continued but before Emmaline could retort, they were interrupted by two smaller figures–Hyacinth and Gregory Bridgerton, making their way toward them. Hyacinth plopped herself right in between them. "What are you two bickering about now?" She said with an exaggerated sigh.

Gregory wasn't far behind, climbing up into Emmaline's lap, leaning back against her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Gregory—" Anthony began, his tone hovering between stern and mild annoyance.

But Emmaline quickly waved him off, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's fine. I don't mind." She wrapped her arms around Gregory, pulling him close. "Besides, I heard someone missed me," she said, teasingly poking his side.

Gregory let out a playful laugh, squirming in her embrace. "I did miss you, Emmy!" She smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, making him laugh even harder.

Hyacinth giggled beside them. "Don't forget about me I've missed you too! More than Gregory!"

Anthony shook his head, his stern façade giving way to a smile. "Fine, but don't let them get too comfortable," he said, his tone light and teasing.

Emmaline winked at him. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Are you teasing Anthony again, Emmaline?" Gregory asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She smiled down at Gregory, ruffling his hair. "Someone has to keep your brother in line."

Hyacinth giggled. "Good luck with that. No one can keep Anthony in line."

Anthony scoffed, crossing his arms as he pretended to look offended. "Hyacinth, I'm right here."

Gregory, now completely settled on Emmaline's lap, leaned back against her, glancing up at Anthony with a grin. "You know it's the truth brother."

Emmaline gave Anthony a playful look. "See? Even Gregory agrees."

Anthony narrowed his eyes at his younger brother, though his expression remained fond. "Gregory?"

Gregory laughed, leaning into Emmaline's hug. "I'm sorry, but between you and Emmy, she is always right."

Hyacinth folded her arms, smirking as she added her own thoughts. "I suppose if Emmaline weren't here, you'd be even more insufferable, Anthony."

Anthony looked from Hyacinth to Gregory, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Traitors. All of you."

Emmaline grinned triumphantly. "It seems like the younger Bridgertons have finally come to their senses."

Anthony tilted his head, giving her a mock-serious look. "Oh, you think you've won, do you?"

"I know I've won," Emmaline replied, raising her chin defiantly.

Hyacinth clapped her hands together, laughing. "She's right, Anthony. You never win when it comes to Emmaline."

Anthony leaned in closer, lowering his voice in a playful, conspiratorial tone. "One of these days, Emmaline, I'll surprise you."

Emmaline raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her gaze. "I'll be waiting for the day that happens."

Before Anthony could respond, Gregory chimed in with a mischievous grin. "Emmaline always wins. You should just give up, Anthony."

Anthony sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in surrender. "It appears I'm surrounded by a mutiny."

"More like a reality check," Emmaline quipped, her eyes gleaming with laughter.

Hyacinth leaned over, placing her chin in her hands as she looked between the two of them. "You two argue like an old married couple."

Both Anthony and Emmaline froze for a moment, exchanging a glance. She quickly recovered, her smile widening as she nudged Hyacinth playfully. "Maybe that's because I've known your brother for too long. I know all his tricks."

"And she still puts up with me," Anthony added with a grin, turning to Hyacinth. "That's the real miracle."

Gregory's head popped up from Emmaline's lap, his expression serious as he asked, "Emmaline, are you going to marry Anthony?"

Emmaline blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly as she looked at Anthony, who seemed equally taken aback by the question. But ever quick with a retort, Emmaline gave Gregory a teasing smile. "Only if he promises to behave," she replied, giving Anthony a sideways glance.

Anthony let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "In that case, it seems I'm destined to remain unmarried."

Just as she was about to tease him again, the doors to the drawing room opened, and Simon and Daphne entered. Francesca's face lit up as she spotted her older sister.

"Sister!" Francesca called out, rising from the piano.

"Francesca!" Daphne responded, hugging her tightly. "Welcome home."

"It's so wonderful to see you," Francesca said, holding Daphne close before turning to Simon. "And you, Your Grace. I thought four brothers were enough, but returning to five is quite nice."

Before Daphne could respond, Hyacinth, ever curious, had darted over to Simon. "Simon! When can I visit Clyvedon? You promised me a tour, remember?"

"Hyacinth, allow the duke to find a seat before you trouble him," Violet scolded gently from her chair.

"You are welcome to visit Clyvedon anytime you wish," He smiled down at her just as Hyacinth grabbed his hand and dragged him with her.

Daphne smiled, shaking her head before turning her attention back to Francesca. "Now, come," she said, taking Francesca's hand. "Show me what you've been learning all summer."

Francesca grinned and nodded, leading her sister back to the piano. The room grew still for a moment as the sisters sat down, the piano keys coming to life once again, filling the drawing room with soft music. Soon, the room was filled with music once more, accompanied by laughter and conversation as the Bridgerton and Davison families enjoyed the evening together.

Moments later as Francesca finished her piece, a round of polite applause echoed through the room. "Sister, your pianoforte is quite impressive," Daphne beamed with pride.

"Join me, Brother," she called out to Colin, who had been idly chatting with Joshua and Oliver on the far side of the room.

"Yes, Colin," Violet chimed in from across the room, her smile warm and encouraging. "Why not a song?"

Colin sighed dramatically, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. "If I must," he said, earning a chuckle from his siblings.

As Francesca began to play again, her hands flowing seamlessly over the keys, Colin's rich voice filled the room, immediately captivating everyone.

♪Now we are met, let mirth abound. And let the catch and toast go round . And then the catch, and then the catch...♪

As the music picked up, Gregory spun his sister Hyacinth in an energetic twirl, the young girl laughing as her feet skipped across the floor. "Come on, Emmy!" Gregory urged, his voice full of youthful energy as he pulled her along. "Dance with us!"

Emmaline's eyes widened in surprise as Gregory took her hand without waiting for an answer, pulling her onto the open space where he had been dancing with Hyacinth. She laughed despite herself, the suddenness of the moment catching her off guard. The three of them linked arms, laughing and spinning together.  They moved in rhythm with the country dance, their laughter echoing through the room as they twirled and swayed. Everyone clapped along, watching the impromptu dance with smiles on their faces.

Anthony stood on the sidelines, watching the scene unfold with a quiet smile on his lips as his hands moved in time with the music as he clapped along. But his attention wasn't on the performance—it was on Emmaline.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. The care she showed in indulging Gregory's enthusiasm, the way her laughter echoed through the room, bringing life to every corner, the way her hair fell in soft waves as she danced, and the joy that radiated from her—it was captivating.

As he admired her from across the room, his mother, Violet, took notice. She glanced at Anthony, then back at Emmaline, and something stirred in her memory. A soft smile tugged at her lips as realization dawned on her. The way Anthony watched Emmaline, the way his expression softened whenever he looked at her—it reminded Violet of how Edmund used to look at her.

"You two remind me so much of your father and I."

"Who, mother?"

"Well.. you and Emmaline my dear." She said, nodding toward the trio still dancing in the middle of the room.

Anthony frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

She leaned over and whispered to him, her voice soft and affectionate. "I mean that there's something special about the way you look at her, Anthony, as though you can't bear to be away from her... it's the same way your father used to look at me back when we were younger. Like she's the only person in the room."

Anthony's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening slightly. "Mother, I—" He started to protest, but the words faltered on his tongue.

Love?

No, it couldn't be. Surely, he didn't—

"Do not deny it," Violet continued with a knowing smile. "Emmaline is special to you, isn't she?"

"Well of course. She's... she's always been special," Anthony admitted quietly, his voice barely audible.

"And perhaps," Violet added gently, "more than just a friend."

Anthony's brow furrowed in confusion, and he shook his head slightly. "You don't know what you are talking about mother. It's.... it's not like that at all," he stammered, trying to dismiss the notion. "Emmaline and I are old friends, nothing more."

Violet gave him a soft, almost pitying smile. "Anthony, you may be able to deceive yourself, but not me," she said simply, her tone gentle but firm. "Keep her close, my son. Love is a rare and precious thing. Don't make the mistake of letting her slip away."

With that, his mother didn't push further, simply patting his arm before stepping away. He stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. Love? No, it couldn't be. He had always thought of Emmaline as a friend, nothing more. But the way Violet said it—so certain, so reminiscent of the love she shared with his late father, Edmund—it all weighed heavily on him.

His mind started to race. Surely, he didn't... He couldn't. Could he? Could he be in love with Emmaline?

He  looked back at Emmaline, who was laughing as she danced with Gregory and Hyacinth. The thought of loving Emmaline—truly loving her—suddenly felt overwhelming. He tried to focus on the music, but the words his mother had said echoed in his head, making it impossible to think clearly.

He had known her all his life, but love? That was an entirely different matter. ... it couldn't be love. Right?

As the music faded, Colin finished his song with a flourish, and the room erupted into applause. Francesca stood from the piano and curtsied, while Colin gave an exaggerated bow, earning even more laughter and cheers.

Emmaline excused herself from Gregory and Hyacinth, breathless from dancing. She made her way over to where Anthony was standing, fanning herself lightly as she sat down beside him. "You know," she said between breaths, "I think Gregory is trying to wear me out. I haven't danced that much in ages." She smiled.

Anthony barely registered her words. He nodded, still lost in his thoughts, replaying his mother's words over and over in his mind.

Emmaline frowned slightly, noticing his lack of response. She nudged his shoulder playfully. "Anthony, you usually would tease me right about now. Is everything all right?"

Her voice pulled him back to the present, and when he turned to face her, she saw the tension in his features, the way his brow was furrowed, and his eyes seemed distant.

"Are you all right?" she asked, more softly this time, concern creeping into her voice.

"I'm fine," he stammered, his words rushed. "Just... a lot on my mind, that's all." He forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Emmaline frowned, clearly not convinced. "Are you sure?" she pressed, her gaze searching his face for answers. "You don't look fine."

"I should—uh—go check with the others," Anthony swallowed, suddenly feeling a wave of panic rise in his chest. "About the boxing match tomorrow."

Without giving Emmaline a chance to respond, Anthony walked away abruptly, making his way over to where Benedict, Colin, Simon, Cornelius, Oliver, and Joshua stood in conversation.

"I'll see you all at the match tomorrow?" Anthony asked, his voice strained as he tried to compose himself.

The men exchanged glances but nodded in agreement. "Of course," Simon said, though he cast Anthony a curious look, sensing something was amiss.

Without another word, Anthony excused himself, offering a hasty farewell to the rest of the group. His movements were quick, almost desperate, as he made his way toward the exit. Emmaline watched him go, her heart sinking a little as she noticed how abruptly he left, without even looking back.

"Anthony?" she called after him, but he was already gone.

Something was wrong—she could feel it. But Anthony wasn't giving her the chance to ask. She looked across the room to where Cornelius stood, her brow furrowing in concern as she tried to piece together what had just happened.

Anthony, meanwhile, was already gone, his thoughts in turmoil as he tried to shake off the realization that had hit him like a tidal wave. Love? Was that what this was? The way he felt about Emmaline? He had always cared about her, but... this? This was something else entirely. And it terrified him. He needed to forget her.

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His hands were warm even in the bracing cold of the river as he placed them gently at her hips, twisting himself to fit perfectly around her as they floated gently. His legs brushing against hers intermittently, sending pulses of heat through her each time. The playfulness leaves them quickly.

'Hello.' That voice, so low, always made her ache for him.

'Hello.' She whispers back as he smiles mischievously.

His hand finds the small of her back, heat sparking from his touch, and he gently nudges her toward him, drawing her lips to his. His kiss is sinful, all tongue and teeth and longing.

Hands and fingers liberated in the watery darkness are eager and seem to be everywhere all at once. His fingers spread across her thighs, guiding her legs so they wrap around his waist. It allows them to deepen their kiss and at the same–

Emmaline shot up in bed, Her chest heaved, and she clutched the sheets tightly, the remnants of the dream still clinging to her mind like a ghostly memory. Her heart pounded as she recalled every detail. Anthony's fingers trailing down her arm, his lips brushing against her neck, the quiet groan that had escaped him in the dream. Her body still ached from it, her cheeks flushed with a heat she didn't understand. It was all so vivid, so real, that for a moment she could hardly distinguish the dream from reality. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her pulse thundering in her ears.

It was maddening.

What in heaven's name was wrong with her? Why was she dreaming about him like this, night after night?

She had kissed him at the lake, yes, but it was just a kiss, wasn't it? A stolen, reckless moment born out of curiosity and playfulness. It wasn't the first time she had dreamt of him lately. And yet, it seemed that ever since that day, Anthony Bridgerton had invaded her every thought. Now, even her dreams weren't safe from him.

Emmaline rested her head in her hands, trying to make sense of it all. Why was she dreaming about him more and more? Why did her heart race every time she thought of him?

And why, despite the kiss, did he seem to be avoiding her?

The past few days had been tormenting . Anthony had begun to distance himself from her, going out of his way to ignore her. At first, she had thought nothing of it, dismissing it as coincidence. But it wasn't. 

He found a way to slip away; how his warm, teasing banter had grown cold, distant.

Whenever she approached him, he seemed to find some excuse to turn away, to talk to someone else or to excuse himself from the room entirely. It was as if he were purposely avoiding her. It was infuriating. And it hurt more than she cared to admit, especially since she had no idea what she had done to deserve such treatment.

What has changed? She thought everything was fine. Had she said something wrong?

"Ughhhh," she groaned into the quiet room, her frustration bubbling over. She hated this. She hated not knowing where she stood with him. She hated feeling like she was chasing after someone who didn't want to be around her. What had she done? Why was he pulling away?

She hated the confusing swirl of emotions that had been tearing her apart since their kiss by the lake. And she hated—most of all—that despite everything, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Sitting up in bed, Emmaline pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to calm the flush that had settled there. Sleep was clearly out of the question so with a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her robe. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well do something to quiet her racing thoughts. Perhaps a cup of tea would help.

She silently padded down the grand staircase of the Davison estate, the cool wooden floors making her shiver. The house was still, the hour too late for any of the servants or family to be awake. As she made her way toward the kitchen,  the flicker of candlelight caught her eye from down the hallway. It wasn't coming from the kitchens but from the study. A faint glow spilled out from under the door. Someone was still awake. Curious, she moved toward the door, pushing it open slightly to see Cornelius, her older brother, seated at the desk, surrounded by scattered papers and an open ledger with a glass of brandy in hand.

"Emmaline?" Cornelius looked up, his brows furrowing in surprise. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing."  she replied, stepping into the study. "I couldn't sleep." She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself.

He leaned back in his chair, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I just got back from White's. Had a few drinks with some old friends." He took a sip of his brandy, watching her closely. "What's on your mind? Something's bothering you." 

She sighed, sinking into the chair opposite him. "It's nothing," she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren't true. Her mind was racing, and she felt an overwhelming urge to unburden herself.

He raised an eyebrow. "That didn't sound very convincing."

She bit her lip, her fingers nervously twisting in her lap. Should she ask him? Cornelius was always level-headed, always the one she could turn to when things got confusing. But this... this felt different. Still, she trusted him more than anyone.

"Has Anthony mentioned anything to you lately?"

Cornelius raised an eyebrow. "No, nothing in particular. Why? Has something happened?"

Emmaline sighed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "He's been avoiding me," she confessed, her voice tinged with both anger and sadness. "I don't know what I've done, but every time I try to talk to him, he just... he ignores me, or he finds someone else to speak with. It's as if he can't stand to be near me."

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "And this is bothering you because...?"

"Because it wasn't like this before!" Her frustration bubbled over. "We were... fine. Better than fine. And now, I don't know. Something's changed, and I can't figure out what I did wrong. He's distant, and I hate it."

He took a sip of his brandy, his expression thoughtful. "Has he said anything to you? Given any hint about why he's acting this way?"

"No," she sighed. "That's the worst part. He hasn't said anything. I'm just left wondering what I did to make him avoid me."

He watched her for a moment, his expression softening. "Anthony can be... complicated," he said carefully. "But I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"Not worry about it?" she echoed, incredulous. "He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and now he won't even look at me. How am I supposed to *not* worry?"

Cornelius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent. "Em, listen to me. I know Anthony, probably better than anyone. If he's acting distant, there's probably a reason for it. But it's not because of something you did. Trust me on that."

Emmaline wanted to believe him, but the knot in her stomach wouldn't loosen. Cornelius's words were comforting, but they didn't erase the gnawing doubt that had taken root in her heart.

She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself. "I suppose you're right. But I just... I hate this uncertainty. I hate not knowing."

"You'll figure it out, Emmaline. You always do." he said with a small smile

She nodded, though she wasn't entirely convinced. But before she left she couldn't help but ask, "Brother... Do you know the reason why he doesn't want to marry?"

"Emma..." he regarded her

"He is your closest friend. Surely you must know things–"

"The things I know are certainly not for your ears," he retorted sternly.

"But–"

"You must not concern yourself with his troubles." He raised his head.

She signed and looked down at her hands. Of course he wasn't going to tell her.

His face softened, and he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You know he's been through a lot since his father passed. It changed him, made him take on responsibilities he never asked for."

"I understand, but–"

Cornelius sighed, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I know you think you know him, Em," he said gently, "but you don't know him the way I do. Anthony and I... we've seen parts of each other that we don't show the rest of the world. He's my closest friend, and I care for him like a brother, but I also know the truth."

Emmaline's brows furrowed, a sense of unease creeping into her chest. "What truth?"

He leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully. "It's not my place to say... All I can say is that for the past 20 years that I've known him, that he'll never be able to give any woman what they want or what they deserve. He will always be a rake."

"People can change." She muttered, almost to herself, her mind racing. She didn't want to believe that Anthony was beyond feeling what she had started to feel herself. She didn't want to believe that the kiss they shared had meant nothing to him.

Cornelius's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I wish I was wrong," he said quietly, "but I'm not. Trust me, Emmaline, I know him better than anyone. He's not going to settle down, not with anyone."

She stared at her brother, her heart sinking with every word. She wanted to argue, to deny it, but she couldn't. There was a part of her—small, but growing—that feared he might be right.

"Maybe you're wrong?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He looked at her, a mixture of sympathy and regret on his face. "I'm not," he said softly. "I've seen him push away every woman who ever tried to get close to him. The reason he let you in is because he cares for you as a friend."

Without another word, she stood up, feeling too restless to sit still any longer. Cornelius watched her, concern still etched in his face, but he didn't say anything further.

"I... I think I'll go back to bed," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. She turned toward the door, pausing just before she left. "Thank you, Cornelius."

He nodded, his expression softening. "Anytime, Em. Just... think about what I said."

She didn't respond, but his words stayed with her as she made her way back to her room, her heart heavy with uncertainty.

┈ˋˏ༻❁༺ˎˊ┈

The final ball of any season is distinguished by one of two things, anticipation...or dread. For, while those who have been successful in the year's marriage market look forward to flaunting their perfect, joyous unions...others shudder at the thought of spending one last night before the discerning eyes of the ton. As they know, indeed, just what the evening signifies, that their time is officially up. And yet, to those who may still find themselves out of both choices and hope, fear not. For who knows when and where one's fortunes may change?

Lady Whistledown

1813

"He was completely in his cups," Anthony chuckled, his voice hoarse but light as their shared laughter filled the room.

"He was completely in his cups," Anthony chuckled, his voice hoarse but light as their shared laughter filled the room.

Siena grinned, her head sinking further into her pillow as she gazed at him with playful affection. "I'd wager both of you were," she teased.

He chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "And I would take that wager," he murmured, his hand slipping down her thigh, placing a lingering kiss there that made Siena let out a light giggle, her skin tingling beneath the gentle brush of his lips.

She sat up slightly, bringing herself closer to him, her lips hovering near his. Without hesitation, she leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and sweet at first. Anthony responded immediately, his hand threading through her hair, pulling her closer still, deepening the kiss. Siena couldn't help but moan softly into the kiss, the sound barely audible but enough to make him grin.

But after a moment, she pulled away, her thumb grazing his cheek. "We must part," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with regret. She pecked his lips softly before sitting back, still caressing his cheek. "I should prepare for my show," she added, her fingers gently playing with his hair as Anthony leaned back, his arm propped behind his head, watching her with a smile.

"And you..." she trailed off, smiling as she moved her leg over him, slipping off the bed as she stood up. "I believe there's a ball somewhere requiring your presence," she said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"The last one, yes?"

"Of the season," he replied, his voice distant as though the thought of the ball held no appeal to him. He cleared his throat, sitting up and shifting so he could lean his back against the bed frame, his gaze now fixed on her. "Though, unfortunately," he added with a dry laugh, "not the last of mine."

Siena smirked as she gathered the sheet around her waist, the fabric rustling softly against her skin. "Does that mean you'll dance tonight, my lord?" she teased, ruffling the bed linens and twirling around in front of him, the playfulness in her voice impossible to miss. "Perhaps a quadrille?" she teased, glancing over her shoulder at him as she laughed.  "Oh, do not tell me you shall find some young lady to lead in a waltz all evening," she teased, glancing over her shoulder at him as she laughed.

Anthony shook his head, grinning as he rose from the bed, crossing the room in a few easy strides. "I shall not be anywhere near that dance floor," he assured her, his hands finding her arms as he caught her mid-twirl, spinning her around playfully as they both smiled at one another. "At least I don't have a say in it," he said, holding her close, their hands intertwined as he placed her hand on his chest. .

"Now wherever is the fun in that?" She teased,

He stared down at her, his expression softening. He leaned down, kissing her slowly, a kiss that lingered as if he never wanted to pull away. Siena responded with equal tenderness, her lips brushing against his as if savoring the moment.

"I shall—"

"Come with me. Tonight." he said softly. his finger gently tilting her chin up so that their eyes met.

Siena's smile faltered slightly, the weight of his words sinking in. "Anthony..." she began, her voice softening as she tried to make sense of his plea. She shook her head lightly.

"Siena, I am a viscount," Anthony said, his voice low and earnest as they swayed slowly, still caught in the dance they'd begun. "My sister is now a duchess, and the Duke my brother-in-law. There is no one that would dare say a thing."

She scoffed gently, the sound filled with an edge of sadness. She pulled away just slightly, her arms still loosely around his neck. "Not to you," she said, her eyes casting downward. "But to me..." She shook her head again, as if the thought was too ridiculous to entertain.

Anthony, still holding her hand, gently spun her in a slow, graceful circle, his eyes never leaving hers. When she came back to face him, he looked down at her, his expression softening, his adoration clear.

"And you know it," Siena whispered quietly, her voice barely audible, though she couldn't help but meet his gaze.

"I want you there by my side," he said as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Come with me,"

She glanced down at his lips, her heart clenching as she felt the weight of his words. "Anthony..." she whispered again, unsure of what to say.

"Come with me," he repeated again, softer this time, as if the words were a promise. He leaned down and kissed her once more.  They smiled against each other's lips, Siena's arms winding around his shoulders as Anthony lifted her off the ground, carrying her back to the bed. They tumbled onto the sheets, their gasps of laughter filling the air as they collapsed into one another.

┈ˋˏ༻❁༺ˎˊ┈

Emmaline stood at the foot of the grand staircase, waiting patiently for her mother and older siblings to arrive. She was wearing a gown of the finest emerald silk. The dress shimmered like moonlight, embroidered with delicate flowers that seemed to bloom with every movement. A tiny diamond tiara adorned her hair, a simple yet elegant touch that sparkled against the soft curls pinned up around her head. Despite the elegance, Emmaline couldn't help but fidget slightly, twisting her fingers as she glanced upward, waiting for the rest of her family to join her.

Tonight was the much-anticipated ball at Hastings House. It was to be Daphne's first time hosting such an event since her marriage, and the ton was abuzz with excitement.

Joshua stood beside her, adjusting the cuffs of his coat, casting occasional glances up the staircase as well. His impatience was evident, though he was far better at masking it than Emmaline. The two were talking until a little voice interrupted them.

She smiled gently at Cecilia, whose wide eyes brimmed with longing as she tugged at her older sister's sleeve.

"I wish I could go with you," Cecilia murmured, glancing at her simple nightgown in contrast to Emmaline's sparkling attire. "Imagine seeing Daphne as the hostess. She's bound to be brilliant!"

"You'll have your time soon enough," Emmaline reassured her younger sister, giving her a playful nudge. "Besides, tonight is going to be dreadfully long and filled with endless conversation. It's just a lot of standing around, talking, and dancing. I'm certain you'd be bored after the first hour."

Cecilia giggled but shook her head vehemently. "Not a chance! I'd love every minute. I'd stay by the dessert table, chatting with Francesca and Hyacinth while watching all the dances."

"Is that so?" Joshua interjected. His teasing grin mirrored Emmaline's, though his eyes held the same warmth as always when he looked at his sisters. "Don't worry, Cici. I'll tell you everything about it when we get back. You'll feel like you were there yourself."

"You better. And don't leave out any details!"

Emmaline laughed softly, but her gaze shifted back to the staircase as she watched for the others. Cornelius, Augusta, and their mother still hadn't appeared, and the carriage would be arriving soon.

Just then, the door to their father's study creaked open, and Oliver stepped out, his face flushed with excitement. He spotted Joshua and Emmaline and hurried over, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "You'll never believe it!" He exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement.

"What is it?" Emmaline asked, intrigued by his energy. "You look like you've just won a bet."

"Even better," Oliver said, beaming. "Father just gave me permission to travel to Spain! Can you believe it?"

Both Emmaline and Joshua's eyes widened in surprise. "Spain?" Emmaline repeated, her voice a mixture of shock and excitement. "You've been talking about it for months, but I didn't think he'd actually agree."

"I didn't either," Oliver admitted, his excitement not dampened in the slightest. "But I've convinced him that it's for a good reason. He finally sees that this will benefit the family."

Joshua looked a bit skeptical. "Father actually approved that? You must've worked some kind of miracle."

Oliver grinned mischievously. "I have my ways. Besides, I think he realizes there's no stopping me now. I've been talking about this trip for ages. I can't wait to see everything—Madrid, Seville, the countryside. It's going to be incredible!"

Joshua clapped him on the back, his earlier impatience forgotten. "Well done, Oliver. When exactly are you setting off?"

"Later tonight,"

Emmaline smiled, her heart swelling with pride for her brother, but she couldn't quite shake the twinge of sadness gnawing at her. How she wished she could have the same opportunities as her brothers. She would do anything to see more of the world. To travel, explore, and experience life beyond the confines of her home.

She glanced at her twin, her smile faltering for a moment. "It sounds amazing, Oliver. I'm sure you'll have the adventure of a lifetime."

┈ˋˏ༻❁༺ˎˊ┈

The Hasting Ball was in full swing, with music playing outside as the guests mingled with one another. Emmaline Davison had donned her finest emerald gown, its delicate lace catching the soft glow of candlelight, yet she felt suffocated by the pressure of the social whirlwind around her. Her mother, Lady Eleanor, insisted on introducing her to every eligible bachelor in attendance, while Emmaline's heart was elsewhere.

Emmaline had no intention of staying cooped up in a house filled with people she barely knew.  After dodging another unwanted suitor with a charming yet evasive smile, Emmaline caught sight of the massive double doors leading out into the cool night. She hesitated only a moment before making her escape. Until she saw Anthony walk inside through those doors.

"Anthony."

Anthony ignored her as he walked past her about to make his way to Simon and Cornelius. Oh, she wasn't going to give up that easily as she stepped in front of him. "We need to talk."

He glanced at her, his jaw tightening. "Now's not a good time."

But she wasn't about to take no for an answer. "Yes, now."

She grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the others. Ignoring the curious stares of the ton, she led him down a quiet corridor until they found an empty room. Once inside, he shut the door behind them, leaning against it as if bracing himself for what was to come. The noise of the ball now is just a muffled hum in the background. They stood in silence for a moment, the tension thick between them.

"What do you want, Em?" he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

She blinked in disbelief, her chest tightening. "What do I want? Really? That's all you have to say?"

He crossed his arms, his expression impassive. "Yes. What do you want?"

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asked, crossing her arms, her voice barely concealing her frustration.

"I'm not avoiding you," he replied coolly, still not looking at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you are. Why do you keep pushing me away, even after you promised me you wouldn't? You're shutting me out again."

Anthony's eyes darkened, his shoulders tense. "This isn't the place for this conversation."

"Then where is it?" she snapped, her frustration boiling over. "Because every time I try to talk to you, you run away or brush me off. I won't let you do it this time, not again Anthony."

Anthony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's complicated, Emmaline. You wouldn't understand."

"Complicated?" she echoed, her heart beating faster. "We've been friends for years, Anthony. Now you won't even look at me. What did I do?"

His eyes flicked to hers, hard and distant. "You didn't do anything. It's not about you."

"Then what is it?" she demanded, stepping closer, her voice rising.

He clenched his jaw, looking away. "Emmaline, it's not that simple."Things have changed."

"Changed?" Her voice cracked slightly, her frustration morphing into hurt. "In what way? Did our friendship mean so little to you that you can just shut me out?"

"I'm trying to protect you!" he burst out, his voice louder than she'd ever heard it before. "You don't know what you're asking for."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Protect me? From what, Anthony? You're the one hurting me."

His gaze softened momentarily, but he quickly steeled himself again. "You don't understand the consequences. I can't keep being around you like this."

"Why not?" she demanded, stepping closer until they were only inches apart. "You think I can't handle it? I care about you, Anthony. I thought you cared about me too."

He turned his head away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "It's not that simple."

"Then explain it to me!" she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Please, Anthony, we were close. I just want to understand."

But he stayed silent, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The tension between them crackled in the air, unbearable and thick.

Emmaline took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "I don't understand you anymore," she said, her voice breaking the stillness. "We were fine, and then... something shifted. Ever since that day by the lake... after Francesca came home, you—"

"Don't," Anthony interrupted sharply. His voice was hard, like stone, and it cut through the air between them.

Her brows furrowed. "Don't what? Talk about what happened? You can't just pretend it didn't happen, Anthony! Have I done something wrong?"

"No, ,of course not–" he answered, the word almost bitter on his tongue.

"Then tell me why."

"Before I corrupt you any further—"

"Corrupt me?" She laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the spacious room. "I assure you I am quite capable of deciding the bounds of my own proprietary. I thought you and I were–"

"Friends?" he finished for her, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "I thought you were smarter than that, Emmaline."

She blinked, confusion and hurt clouding her face. "What are you talking about?"

Anthony finally met her gaze, his expression cold and detached. "We were never friends, Emmaline. I do not believe there could be a more ridiculous notion than that of us ever being friends."

Her heart shattered in an instant. She stumbled back a step, shaking her head in disbelief. "No... no, no, no. Don't say that. You're pushing me away again, Anthony. Don't do this. I understand about your resp–"

His head snapped up, his eyes dark with anger. "Don't pretend to understand my responsibilities."

"I'm not pretending!" she shot back. "I understand perfectly. I've lived in this world just as long as you have. I know what it means to carry the weight of a family, to be expected to do things that suffocate you, but you can't push everyone away because of it. You can't push me away!"

"You don't belong in that part of my life!" Anthony snarled, turning on her. "You don't belong anywhere near it!"

Her breath hitched. "That's not for you to decide."

"I already have."

"Whatever you think happened between us—whatever you've built up in your head—it meant nothing. It was nothing. I kissed you because it was convenient. Because you were there, and it was easy. There was no grand meaning behind it. No feelings, no passion. Nothing."

There. He had done it. The words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud and he could see the devastation in her eyes.

Emmaline shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, blurring her vision. She had replayed that moment over and over in her mind, wondering what it meant, what it could mean for them. But now, hearing him dismiss it so easily, as if it were nothing more than a fleeting mistake... it shattered something inside her. "No... you don't mean that."

"Don't you see, Emma?" His voice was bitter, filled with anger and frustration. "I never cared about you. Not then, not now. You were just a convenience.... a diversion. That's all."

"I don't believe you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I refuse to believe you."

"Then you're a fool," he said, his tone brutal. "Because I've never cared, and I never will. It's time you stop pretending like I do."

The room spun, and she felt like the floor had been ripped from beneath her feet. Her body trembled as his words echoed in her mind, over and over. She could hardly breathe as the tears spilled freely down her cheeks, her vision blurred with the pain of his rejection.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Stop lying."

"I'm not," he said coldly, stepping closer to her. "Stop acting like I care about you. Stop acting like you've ever meant anything to me. You don't. You never did."

Anthony just looked at her, his expression impassive, as though her pain meant nothing to him. "It's not a lie, Emmaline. It's the truth you refuse to accept. You're clinging to something that never existed."

The tears spilled over then, rolling down her cheeks in silent streams. She wanted to scream, to argue, to make him see that he was wrong, that he was lying—to himself, if not to her. But the words wouldn't come. She could only stand there, her heart breaking, as the man she had loved her entire life crushed her under the weight of his indifference.

"I never cared about you," he repeated, softer this time, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

She shook her head. "How could you say that?" Her voice cracked as she spoke. "After everything, Anthony... How could you? You're just trying to hurt me because you're scared. You're pushing me away because of whatever stupid reason you've convinced yourself of. But I see through you, Anthony. I know you. You can't—"

"Enough!" Anthony's voice boomed through the room, cutting her off. His eyes flashed with something—anger, regret, fear. "When will you understand? Whatever you believe happened between us that day, it meant nothing! I do not care about you, Emma! Stop acting like I do!"

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. . Emmaline stood frozen, her world crumbling around her as the man she had known her entire life, the man she had trusted and cared for, had shared laughter, secrets, and now, he just severed the last fragile thread that connected them.

"Why!" she asked as she yelled back. "Why are you doing this!"

He closed his eyes briefly, gathering every ounce of willpower to stay firm. "Because it's better this way. You need to stop pretending there's anything more between us. It's a delusion."

The silence that followed was deafening. Emmaline stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat as tears spilled down her cheeks. She searched his face for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of remorse—but there was none. His words, like knives, had pierced through her, leaving a wound that she knew would never fully heal.

Emmaline's hands trembled as she wiped at her tears, her heart shattering with each cruel word. She stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought–" she began, but the words died in her throat.

What had she thought? That Anthony, her oldest friend, the boy she'd grown up with, would suddenly turn his back on her like this? That he'd discard her like she was nothing?  She should've known in the long run he was bound to break his promise once again and hurt her. "... I thought you were different. I thought you were better than this."

Anthony's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He couldn't. He knew that if he said one more word, his resolve would crumble, and he couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when he was this close to pushing her away for good.

"I thought you'd changed," she said finally, her voice breaking.  "But I was wrong,"

"Then I am afraid I must disappoint you," Anthony said coldly.

"You have... in more ways than one," she shot back, the hurt evident in her voice. "You think by pushing me away I would become someone else's problem? Well, guess what... I'm not your problem anymore, Anthony."

Finally, Emmaline could take no more. She turned away, the hurt too raw, too overwhelming to bear. Without another word, she fled the room, her skirts swirling behind her as she disappeared down the corridor. Tears streamed down her face as she left the study, leaving him. She ran through the halls of Hastings House, barely aware of the people around her. She needed to get away  from the man who had just destroyed her heart once again.

Meanwhile Anthony stood rooted to the spot, watching her leave. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to call her back, to tell her the truth—that pushing her away was killing him inside. But he said nothing.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Anthony let out a long, shuddering breath, his chest tight with the weight of what he had just done. He had pushed her away, just like he knew he had to. He told himself it was for the best, that it was better this way. For her sake. She deserves someone who could offer her something real—someone who wasn't burdened with the weight of duty and expectation. Someone who wasn't him.

But even as he tried to convince himself, Anthony couldn't shake the hollow ache in his chest, the one that had been growing since the day they kissed by the lake.

"I never cared about you."

He closed his eyes, the memory of her tear-streaked face haunting him, knowing full well that the wound he'd inflicted on her was one neither of them would recover from.

Anthony let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. His heart ached in a way he hadn't anticipated. He couldn't shake the hollow ache in his chest, the nagging sense that he had just made the greatest mistake of his life.

And despite everything he had said, he knew deep down that he had just lost something precious.

Something he could never get back.

But he knew It was for the best.

It had to be.

┈ˋˏ༻❁༺ˎˊ┈

Emmaline's footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hallway as she dashed from the carriage to the front doors of the Davison estate. The servants exchanged puzzled glances, some even pausing their nightly tasks to watch her unexpected arrival. Her emerald gown clung to her with an air of desperation as she clutched the fabric and stormed past the surprised butlers and maids as she moved up the staircase, each step shaking beneath the weight of emotions she fought to control.

Mary, the housemaid, noticed the glisten of tears brimming in Emmaline's eyes before she hurriedly turned away. The maid's brows knitted in concern as she set down the stack of linens she was carrying. Without hesitation, Mary followed Emmaline's swift ascent up the grand staircase.

"My lady?" Mary called, voice soft but insistent. "Did something happen, miss?"

Emmaline didn't slow, her hands gripping the banister as if she could push herself further, faster, away from whatever had shattered her. With every fiber of her being, she willed herself not to break, not now.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned sharply toward her room. She pushed through her door and slammed it shut behind her, leaning her back against it as her chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths. The muffled thud seemed to echo louder in the silence of her room.

Mary's voice came again, slightly louder but still wrapped in worry. "Miss? Are you all right?" The door trembled as Mary's hand pressed against it.

Emmaline pressed her trembling fingers to her lips to stifle the cry that fought to escape, her body shaking. For a moment, her vision blurred with tears, and she could only feel the weight of her grief and anger pressing her down, as if the room itself sought to swallow her whole.

"Leave me be, Mary," she said, voice barely above a whisper, though it carried a firmness that stopped the maid in her tracks.

Silence. Emmaline strained to hear the reluctant footsteps fade away. When she was certain she was alone, she slid down the door, the cool surface grounding her as she curled in on herself. The sobs came then, quiet at first, as though she still feared the walls might betray her and whisper her heartbreak to the entire house. But the pain was too raw, too deep. It clawed out of her, wracking her slender frame as she pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face against them.

Why had she let herself hope?

Anthony's eyes, the way they softened when they met hers, the moments of laughter that felt as effortless as breathing—each memory seared through her like a cruel reminder of how wrong she had been. He had made her believe, even if only for fleeting moments, that there was more between them. The reality of it all came crashing back: he would always be a rake, untethered, and she was a fool for thinking she could ever change that. She felt foolish, so deeply foolish, for allowing herself to dream.

"I hate him," she whispered to the empty room, though her voice wavered. She hated him for the way he made her feel, for the dreams he had unknowingly fostered only to dash them. But most of all, she hated herself for wanting him despite the pain. She hated herself even more.

Anthony's words played on an endless loop in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition. How foolish she felt, how utterly broken.

With tear-streaked cheeks and eyes that burned, her gaze fell on her small travel bag nestled near the foot of her bed. The realization dawned on her as if whispered by the silence: she couldn't stay. This place, this town, with its reminders and memories, would only suffocate her more. Her eyes darted to her wardrobe, rich with silks and satins, dresses meant for a girl whose heart wasn't splintered into pieces.

With renewed purpose, she rose from the floor. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, sniffling as she pushed the pain down, replacing it with determination. She walked to the closet, throwing the doors open and pulling out garments in a flurry. Dresses, shawls, and gloves piled onto the bed, accompanied by small trinkets and books she couldn't part with. The act of packing became mechanical, something to focus on besides the ache that lingered in her chest.The crisp rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room as she worked with single-minded focus.

A soft knock at the door startled her, and she froze, hand gripping the handle of her bag. But no voice called out, and after a moment, she heard the faint rustle of footsteps retreating down the hall. Relief and a pang of guilt washed over her, knowing Mary or another servant might worry throughout the night.

Emmaline tightened the strap of her travel coat and pulled the hood over her hair, concealing her face in its shadows. Without another glance at her room, she grabbed her small travel bag and trunk, its weight nearly making her stumble as she rushed down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, Oliver stood with the footman, ticking off items on a checklist, making sure they had everything for his travels.. But the moment he saw Emmaline's silhouette hurrying down, the list fluttered from his fingers.

"Emmaline?" he called out, his voice sharp with concern.

She didn't answer, didn't pause. The door was so close. Freedom was so close. Before she could reach it, a firm hand caught her elbow, pulling her to a sudden stop.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, eyes searching hers. The look of disarray—the tear-streaked face, the hurried breath, the small trunk—told him more than he wanted to know.

"I have to go," she said, her voice cracking. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. "Please, Oliver, let me go."

"Not until you tell me why," he said, his voice filled with concern.

"I have to, Oliver. I don't expect you to understand."

Oliver gleaned over his shoulder, making sure the footman was out of earshot. "Do Mother and Father know about this?" His grip loosened, though he did not release her, as if part of him wished to let her go, but duty held him firm.

Emmaline shook her head, the hood slipping back slightly to reveal the pale, tear-streaked curve of her face. "No. And I can't... I can't let them know. Please, Oliver, don't say anything."

He exhaled, A flicker of pain crossed Oliver's face, and he released her arm only to step in front of her, blocking the door. "You know I can't let you do this. Running away... it'll ruin everything—your reputation, the family—"

"Please, Oliver," she interrupted, her voice almost a sob. "I need this. I need to get away from here. If you ever cared for me, let me go."

He sighed, the sound heavy and conflicted, before cutting her off firmly. "I can't let you do this... especially not alone." he said, a small smile breaking through the worry.

Emmaline blinked, confusion clouding her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Oliver's expression softened, a small, resolute smile appearing. "I mean, if you're going to do this, then we're going together. I'm already set to leave for Spain. You'll come with me."

"Spain?" The idea seemed foreign, impossible, but as she searched his face, she found nothing but earnestness. "Are you serious?" The shock in her voice was replaced with a faint hope.

"Yes," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "But we need to move quickly. We have to be gone before anyone notices."

Relief crashed over her in a wave, and before she could stop herself, she reached out and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Oliver," she whispered, her voice choked with gratitude.

He returned the embrace briefly, then pulled back with a nod. "Come on. We don't have much time."

They hurried out to the waiting carriage, the crisp night air biting at their cheeks. As they settled inside, Emmaline glanced back through the window, watching the estate fade into the distance. The familiar silhouette grew smaller and smaller, swallowed by the shadows of the night.

Her heart raced, not with fear, but with a sense of liberation she hadn't felt in years. She needed this. She needed to break free, from London, from society, from her parents... from Anthony.

To leave was the only way to reclaim the pieces of herself she felt slipping through her fingers, and now, with Oliver by her side, she wasn't alone.

┈ˋˏ༻❁༺ˎˊ┈

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞:
and just like that act one is finally complete. I honestly thought this day wouldn't come. I'm so glad to start writing act 2 I have so much things plan for them.

also HAPPY WICKED DAY AHHHHH im so so excited. im so excited to go see it later today, as im typing this im about to head over and watch it. wicked hold such a special place in my heart it was the first musical that made me fall in love with musical theater, I've never seen the Broadway production besides the bootleg version on YouTube but still I can't wait to see Ariana, Cynthia, Jonathan and the rest of the cast did. I know how much they care so much with there character that I know they took care of them to bring them into life.

anyway i hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much i did when writing it. I don't know when I'll start working on act 2 but hopefully during winter break I'll get the first chapter in.

once again don't forget to comment and vote loves. don't be a ghost reader and I'll see you guys in the next chapter! <3

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CRUEL SUMMER © pattyluquin, 2022.