Later in the evening, Penelope returned to the sanctuary of the garden. The cool night air brushed against her skin as she sat on the wooden swing, her fingers holding a delicate white blossom she had plucked from a nearby bush. With careful, almost rhythmic precision, she began tearing at the petals.

"Go to the Viremont estate tomorrow."

Pluck.

"Don’t go to the Viremont estate tomorrow."

Pluck.

"...Go to the Viremont estate tomorrow."

Pluck.

Penelope let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, staring down at the mangled stem in her hand. She wondered what on earth she was doing playing such a childish game. It would be utterly foolish of her to change her mind now, to let fear paralyze her after she had already come so far and set her pieces so carefully on the board.

But why was she still so terribly nervous?

The answer was simple, coiled tightly in the pit of her stomach: she did not want to see William’s face anymore.

An angry William was one of the most terrifying things she had ever experienced during her time under his absolute control. Memories of the subtle, suffocating ways he tortured her flooded her mind.

He had not only dismantled her spirit, but he broke her piece by agonizing piece until she was nothing but a hollow shell of herself.

She remembered screaming at the top of her lungs when he locked her away for not just days, but weeks in the pitch-black, windowless cellar under his manor, completely ignoring her begging until her voice turned raw and her throat bled. He deliberately isolated her from anyone who showed her a shred of kindness, systematically dismissing or punishing the servants who pitied her, making her feel utterly worthless and helplessly dependent on his occasional, twisted mercy.

He hadn’t just planned to hurt her physically; he wanted to hollow her out and use the corpse. He had even planned, along with her sister, to use her to forge connections and make more money. Most of the time they broke her mind using mind-altering sedatives, just to force her into a state of perpetual, pliable compliance.

She had spent many nights crying her eyes out in that damp darkness, weeping until she no longer had any tears to shed for someone so despicable. She had loved him once, dearly, so yes, the realization of his absolute malice broke her till it became unbearable.

Now that he had been released by her father’s hand, along with the count, the public humiliation she caused him would certainly not be easily brushed off. Knowing his arrogant, volatile pride, he would be burning with retribution. She deeply doubted he would just sit quietly in his family’s manor and do nothing. What if he showed up at her father’s estate tomorrow?

A shiver ran down her spine, but her grip on the flower tightened. Once more, she lowered her gaze and continued to pluck the remaining petals, letting the mindless ritual decide her fate, even as her mind raced with the storm that awaited her at dawn.

"What are you doing out here?"

"....!!" 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Penelope nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden deep voice behind her, the half-plucked flower instinctively slipping from her fingers and tumbling into the grass below.

When she turned and saw it was Vincent, she immediately placed a hand over her racing heart, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

"It’s you! You nearly frightened me to death!" she gasped breathlessly as she watched him move past the shadow of the rose bushes to sit on the empty swing beside hers.

"And what are you doing out here?" She asked.

"Well, for starters, I could not find you in our chamber," he replied, his gray eyes scanning her face in the pale glow of the moonlight. "I suspected you might be here. After our walk this morning, I had a feeling you were fond of this place, so I came looking for you."

Penelope’s heart finally calmed, the lingering panic from her thoughts of William dissolving under Vincent’s grounding presence. She shook her head softly as she looked down at her hands. "I... I should have informed someone I’d be here, I didn’t mean to worry you. I only wished for some fresh air."

"I’m not complaining," Vincent said, shifting his gaze elsewhere as if adjusting to the unfamiliarity of sharing his space with another. "This house is as much yours as it is mine, so I do not mind it. My only request is that you have someone with you whenever possible, maybe Martha to keep you company while you indulge. I know it sounds troublesome, but it is better to be safe than sorry."

Penelope looked at him then, the weight of his quiet protectiveness washing over her, and all she could offer in return was a soft nod.

Vincent looked around the quiet, moonlit garden, noting the scattered white petals dusting the grass at her feet, before returning his gaze to Penelope.

"Are you still worried about tomorrow?" He asked softly, his voice dropping to a rare, genuine register. "Is that the reason for your sudden need for fresh air?"

Penelope exhaled softly, looking down at her lap, suddenly unable to meet the piercing honesty of his gaze. "It must feel disappointing to see, right? I thought I had everything already figured out. I wanted to be strong, but... I’m still so anxious."

She swallowed hard. "Would you see me as someone pathetic if I decide not to go tomorrow? What do you believe I should do? It feels...as though my heart is weighed down by some invisible chain."

Before the tears burning at the back of her eyes could spill over, Penelope quickly and fiercely wiped them away with the back of her hand.

She felt so incredibly stupid.

What was she even crying about now?

Vincent stared at her in silence, his posture rigid when he realized she was actually weeping. For a man who could command a blood-soaked battlefield without blinking, the sight of a single tear in her eyes completely paralyzed him. His chest tightened painfully, and he had to force himself to stay composed, fighting the roaring instinct to simply pull her into his arms and never let go.

"As much as you want me to," he finally replied, his voice rough but remarkably steady. "I cannot make that decision for you. Reclaiming your inheritance sounded immensely important to you. So it is up to you, and you alone, to decide if it is still worth pursuing."

He deliberately looked away from her, fixing his eyes on the dark silhouette of the distant trees so he wouldn’t break and reach out to wipe the tears from her pretty brown eyes. If it were up to him, he would have ridden to the Viremont’s estate himself and reduced every soul responsible for her misery. But he knew, with painful clarity, that this was Penelope’s fight to win.

Not his.

"The only thing I can offer you is my support," he said quietly.

The profound gravity in his tone made Penelope slowly raise her head to look at him.

"If you wish to go tomorrow, I will support you," Vincent continued, turning his head back to lock his gray eyes with hers, offering her an unyielding foundation. "And if you wish to leave it all behind and never look back, I will also support you. Whatever your choice may be, Penny... I will support you. That doesn’t make you any less reliable."

For a man who had never comforted a living soul in his life, the words were a clumsy, almost awkward, breathtakingly beautiful vow to Penelope’s ears. He was not telling her to be brave; He was telling her she was allowed to choose.

Vincent noticed the way she stared at him, her brown eyes wide and unblinking in the silver wash of moonlight. He shifted slightly, wondering if she had somehow misread the intention behind his words or found them lacking. It’s not like he’s done this before.

"Why are you staring like that?" he asked, a trace of his usual defensive gruffness returning.

Penelope merely lowered her gaze, a soft, genuine smile finally blooming across her lips as she shook her head faintly. The heavy suffocating chain that had wrapped around her chest moments ago felt noticeably lighter.

"It’s nothing," she whispered, warmth threading through her voice so naturally that it caught him completely off guard. "Thank you."

Vincent cleared his throat, looking at the wooden seat beneath her to escape the sudden intensity of her smile. "Do you enjoy the swing?"

Penelope blinked, visibly surprised by the sudden, mundane question. "Yes," she answered, her smile widening slightly. "I did not have many chances to use one as a child, so I was incredibly happy when I stumbled upon it here."

Vincent rose from his own swing, his tall frame towering over her for a moment before he stepped into the shadows behind her. "Then let me give you a little push. Isn’t that how it’s done?"

"W-what?" Penelope gasped, twisting around to look up at him.

Before she could protest further, Vincent had already taken hold of the thick wooden ropes behind her, gripping them firmly.

"Oh... you’re serious," Penelope laughed nervously, a faint blush warming her cheeks. "You really do not have to do this. It’s perfectly fine."

"You’re right," he replied evenly. "I do not have to. But I want to. Ready?"

Despite her momentary shock, Penelope found herself adjusting her skirts and sitting more properly upon the swing. She gripped the ropes tightly and nodded once.

"Ready."

With that, Vincent pushed the swing with an incredibly gentle, cautious strength. Penelope felt the swing glide forward and back, the cool night wind suddenly whipping through her hair and cooling her face. For the first time that evening, the suffocating thoughts of her father, of William, and what might happen tomorrow evaporated.

She was cheered almost instantly. The simple joy of it bubbled up unexpectedly in her chest.

"A bit higher!" she called out over her shoulder.

Vincent obliged, a ghost of a smile touching his own lips. He pushed her a fraction harder, though he still meticulously monitored the height and momentum, ensuring he did not send her too far.

Her bright, beautiful, melodious laugh was the next thing he heard, ringing out through the dark, quiet garden.