The morning after the ball felt unbearably empty.
Evangeline woke in her vast, silent chamber, the sunlight slipping through heavy curtains like pale fingers. The Rosenthal estate had always been quiet, but today it was different. Heavier. As if the walls themselves disapproved of the warmth she carried back with her from the ballroom.
Her thoughts drifted again and again to Aurelius. The way he'd held her hand so confidently, the way his eyes had lingered on her as though she were worth seeing. Not a curse. Not a Rosenthal. Just… her.
Her lips curved faintly, and before she realized it, she whispered into the stillness:
"If only someone would stay."
The words left her like a secret prayer. But when she stepped into her drawing room later, she froze.
On the mantle, in the silver vase where her maid had discarded last night's withered flowers, one black rose stood in full bloom. Its petals were dark, rich, and impossibly fresh—as though the night itself had chosen to blossom there.
Evangeline's hand trembled as she reached toward it. The air was colder than it should have been. The room… wasn't empty.
"You again," she whispered. "Always watching… always near."
No answer came. Only silence. Only the rose. Yet she could not shake the strange certainty that someone—something—had heard her longing, and had chosen to answer in its own way.
But if her morning had been filled with shadows, the evening brought fire.
The city's salons and halls buzzed with whispers of the Rosenthal heiress and the golden lord who had chosen her as his partner.
"They say she bewitched him," one lady murmured behind a jeweled fan. "The cursed Rosenthal—can you imagine?"
"Or perhaps he only pities her," another replied with a smirk. "Who would willingly tie themselves to such misfortune?"
The laughter was soft but cruel, cutting straight to the bone.
Evangeline moved past them with her chin high, every step steady, though inside her heart was trembling. She should be used to this by now. She had been living with whispers her entire life. And yet… tonight, they stung.
And then—
"Lady Evangeline."
His voice.
The crowd shifted, and there he was: Aurelius, radiant as always. His golden hair caught the candlelight, his smile dazzling enough to hush even the sharpest tongues. In his hand, he carried a bouquet of roses—golden roses, each petal shimmering as though touched by sunlight itself.
He approached her with unshakable confidence. "For you," he said smoothly, offering the bouquet. "I thought perhaps black roses were too cold for a heart as warm as yours."
Her breath hitched as she accepted them. They were beautiful. Too beautiful. Yet even as she held them, she thought of the black rose waiting at home—the one that had bloomed in silence, as if summoned from the shadows just for her.
One rose from the golden lord.One rose from the unseen watcher.
Her fingers tightened around the bouquet. For the first time in her life, she was being courted. Yet in the depths of her heart, she wondered—
Which of them truly saw me?
The roses were too bright, too perfect. Aurelius's smile even more so.
His charm wrapped around her like a warm net, pulling her deeper and deeper into a glow that society applauded. The whispers that had mocked her moments ago now shifted into envy, awe, even grudging approval.
The cursed Rosenthal, walking with the golden lord.
Evangeline should have felt triumphant. She should have felt saved. Instead, as Aurelius pressed her hand to his lips, she felt only the faintest chill at the nape of her neck—as though someone, somewhere, disapproved.
A week later, the masquerade was held.
The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, laughter, and masks as delicate as spun glass. Aurelius, ever radiant, wore gold and ivory, his mask flecked with gems. The crowd parted for him as though he were sunlight itself, and again, he chose her. Always her.
"Lady Evangeline," he said warmly, extending his hand. "Will you honor me again?"
The crowd's whispers rippled like waves. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the floor. The music swelled. Aurelius danced flawlessly, confidently, his steps designed to display her, to make their pairing undeniable.
Yet beneath the golden glow, her heart was restless. She smiled, she nodded, she let the dance carry her—but something pressed against her awareness, like the weight of eyes upon her back.
And when the music ended, Aurelius was swept away by his admirers. For a brief moment, she stood alone.
That was when another hand reached for hers.
She turned—and stilled.
The man was taller than Aurelius, his presence quieter, darker. His mask was simple: black, unadorned. His clothes were dark as midnight velvet, without any ornament or shine. No one noticed his approach, as though the crowd itself parted without seeing.
"May I?" His voice was low, steady, like a whisper spoken in a dream.
Before she could think, she found herself nodding. His hand was cool but firm, and when the music began again, his steps matched hers perfectly—not with Aurelius's practiced grandeur, but with a kind of calm inevitability.
For the first time in years, Evangeline felt… steady.
They moved as if they had always known each other. His hand at her waist guided, never forced. His gaze, though hidden, was heavy, intense, impossible to ignore.
"You should be careful," he murmured, his voice brushing against her ear. "Not all golden cages are meant to keep you safe."
Her heart stuttered. "You…" She looked up, trying to see beyond the mask. "Who are you?"
The man said nothing more. His silence was more haunting than words.
And then, just as the music slowed, he released her.
Evangeline spun—her skirts flaring—and when she turned back, he was gone. Vanished. As if the shadows themselves had swallowed him whole.
Only the faintest trace of something lingered: the chill of midnight air… and the scent of black roses.
Who was he?
The thought clung to her even as Aurelius returned to her side, golden smile and easy charm pressing in once more.
Yet her pulse beat strangely, remembering not the warmth of the golden lord's hands… but the steadiness of the stranger in black.