I needed a sky that wasn't owned by Blackthorne.
That was the thought circling my head when I finally stepped out of the room of portraits and promises. The manor suddenly felt too small for everything I had learned—like a beautiful dress laced too tight around the ribs.
Adrian offered to come with me into the city. I refused gently.
"Not running," I told him at the door. "Just remembering who I am when I'm not inside your walls."
He searched my face, worry and affection wrestling behind his eyes.
"Come back tonight."
"I will."
The drive down the cliffs felt like waking from a long fever. The sea opened beside the road, loud and ordinary, gulls arguing over scraps like they had no idea my life had turned upside down.
By the time the bus reached the city, the manor already felt like a dream I might have invented.
---
Port Amber greeted me with its usual chaos—buses sighing at corners, vendors shouting prices, the smell of diesel tangled with fried onions. Real life, noisy and imperfect.
I walked without a plan.
For weeks my world had shrunk to Adrian's voice, Adrian's touch, the slow breathing of an old house. Now the streets reminded me I was more than a bride-in-waiting.
At a café near the station I ordered coffee too sweet and sat by the window watching people hurry toward normal problems.
"Mira Vale?" a voice said.
I looked up to find Tomás Reyes from secondary school grinning at me, older but still wearing the same crooked confidence.
"Tomás. Wow—hi."
"Didn't expect to see you back in town. Thought you vanished into book-land forever."
We laughed, and the sound felt wonderfully uncomplicated.
He joined me without asking, telling stories about his mechanic shop, his failed attempt at moving north, his mother who still complained about everything including the weather.
Conversation with him was easy—no ghosts, no legacies, no silver marks glowing under sleeves.
"So what about you?" he asked. "Any grand adventures?"
I hesitated. How did one summarize falling in love with a man who seemed stitched to a century-old tragedy?
"I met someone," I said finally.
Tomás whistled. "That smile says it's serious."
"Maybe too serious."
He studied me with surprising gentleness.
"Just don't disappear completely, yeah? The city needs a few quiet girls to keep us honest."
His words warmed me more than the coffee.
---
I spent the afternoon wandering markets and secondhand shops, buying nothing, touching everything. The ordinary world stitched me back together.
Yet Adrian followed me in small ways: the scent of cedar from a carpenter's stall, a song from a radio that sounded like his piano, a couple arguing affectionately on a corner.
Love had made a home in me whether I liked it or not.
Near sunset I called Lila.
"You're alive!" she shouted over background music. "I was ready to file a missing-person report with dramatic posters."
"I needed air."
"Translation: mysterious rich boyfriend kidnapped you with charm."
I smiled despite myself.
"Meet me at the pier? I'll explain what I can."
---
The pier hadn't changed since childhood—paint peeling like sunburn, teenagers carving initials into brave wood.
Lila arrived with two milkshakes and a storm of questions.
I told her most of the truth: the engagement, the manor, the strange portrait. I left out the parts that sounded insane even to me.
She listened with wide eyes.
"So you're basically living inside a gothic romance novel."
"Feels that way."
"And the… bedroom situation?" she asked with a wicked grin.
Heat climbed my neck.
"He's—kind. And very convincing."
"Good. If you're going to marry a haunted millionaire, at least enjoy the benefits."
We laughed until gulls scattered.
For a few hours I was simply Mira again—no destiny attached, no ring glowing like a moon on my hand.
---
Evening pulled the city into softer colors.
I walked alone along the waterfront thinking about choices. Adrian had offered a life that felt like velvet and thunder. But I needed to choose it with clear eyes, not enchanted ones.
At a street musician's corner I stopped to listen. The melody reminded me painfully of the manor piano—yet different, freer.
My phone buzzed.
Are you safe? — Adrian.
Yes. Just remembering how to be ordinary.
A pause, then:
I love you even there.
The message made my chest ache.
---
I boarded the late bus back with the feeling of returning from a long trip though it had only been a day.
The road climbed toward the cliffs, city lights shrinking behind me like scattered coins. I watched my reflection in the window—same face as the portrait, yet undeniably mine.
Whatever waited at Blackthorne, I would meet it as myself.
Not Mirabelle.
Not a story.
Just Mira.
The bus stopped at the lonely shelter near the manor road. Night smelled of wet grass and distant smoke.
Adrian waited beside his car, relief loosening his shoulders when he saw me.
"You came back."
"I said I would."
He opened his arms without pressure, and I stepped into them because I wanted to, not because destiny nudged me.
"Did the city steal you away?" he asked softly.
"It tried. I argued."
His laugh warmed the dark.
As we drove toward the glowing house, I realized leaving had changed something between us. The love was still there—but now it belonged to daylight as well as shadows.
And that felt like the first truly human step of our story.