Elara waited until the manor slept.
The halls were silent except for the distant ticking of clocks—each second a reminder of the life tightening around her. She moved carefully, lifting her skirts, memorizing the shadows. Freedom, she had learned, required precision.
She carried only what she could conceal: a small purse of coins, a plain cloak, and the courage she had been quietly gathering for weeks.
At the servants' gate, she hesitated.
Leaving meant disgrace. It meant exile. It meant never again being Elara Montclair.
She opened the gate anyway.
---
The journey to the city was brutal.
Elara walked until her feet blistered, then paid for passage on a grain cart. The world beyond privilege was loud, cold, and indifferent. For the first time in her life, no one bowed. No one watched.
She had never felt more alive—or more afraid.
When she reached the city, it swallowed her whole. Smoke choked the air. Streets pulsed with desperation. She asked for Luca everywhere, clinging to his name like a prayer.
Most shook their heads.
Some laughed.
Then, at a dockside tavern, a woman with tired eyes recognized the description.
"The injured one?" she said. "Try the abandoned warehouse near Pier Nine."
Elara ran.
---
Luca drifted in and out of fevered sleep. Voices blurred. Pain pulsed with every breath. He thought he was dreaming when he heard her voice.
"Luca."
He forced his eyes open.
"Elara?" His voice cracked. "You shouldn't be here."
She dropped to her knees beside him. "Neither should you."
Tears spilled freely now. She pressed water to his lips, her hands shaking. He tried to sit up and failed.
"You left everything," he whispered.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because life without you wasn't living."
Silence fell, broken only by his uneven breathing.
"They'll come for you," he said weakly. "Your family—"
"Let them," she replied. "I choose this."
---
They hid for days.
Elara nursed him back from the edge, learning quickly how to survive on little. She sold her jewelry piece by piece, each sale a severed tie to her past.
When Luca could finally stand, he looked at her with awe and sorrow.
"You don't belong here," he said.
"Neither do you," she replied. "Yet here we are."
---
News traveled fast.
The Montclairs' daughter had vanished. Rewards were offered. Faces searched the streets.
One evening, Julien found them.
He stood in the doorway of the warehouse, expression unreadable.
"This ends now," he said.
Elara stepped forward. "I will not marry you."
Julien's gaze shifted to Luca. "Then he will pay for your defiance."
Before Luca could move, guards seized him.
"No!" Elara screamed.
Julien leaned close. "Love is expensive, my lady."
As Luca was dragged away, Elara realized something terrible and true:
The world did not punish love.
It punished those who dared to choose it.