Evelyne leaned against her writing desk, the letter from the masked stranger still clutched in her hand.
The handwriting… too elegant to be common.
The phrasing… too intimate to be from a stranger.
Her mind turned to the three boys who had gotten far too close lately.
Zayne, always watching her with those sharp eyes.
Caleb, constantly appearing when she least expected it.
Arven, who said too little… and yet always seemed to know too much.
One of them knew something.
She was sure of it.
But which one?
---
In the royal garden, Elisse plucked petals absentmindedly.
He loves her… he loves her not…
She stopped.
Her face flushed.
"…Why did I say her?"
The flower fell from her hand.
She had always believed Evelyne was just misunderstood—someone to pity. But now, Evelyne shone like the very protagonist of a story, and Elisse found herself chasing her shadow.
Not a rival.
Something else.
Something softer.
---
Later that day, Evelyne walked through the academy halls for her diplomatic studies.
She sensed eyes again.
Turning, she spotted a figure at the end of the hallway—masked, cloaked in black.
"Who are you?!" she called.
But the figure vanished behind the pillar.
She raced forward. Nothing.
On the stone floor… another letter.
> You doubt them now, don't you?
Good. That means you're learning.
But be careful… your true enemy wears no mask.
Her fingers curled tightly.
This wasn't a game anymore.
---