Lucien couldn't sleep.
It was the third night in a row.
He'd tried everything, whiskey, late-night reading, even pacing the halls like a restless ghost but nothing quieted the storm in his mind.
Ever since he'd found Ava in his study.
Something about her haunted him. The way her hands trembled. The flicker of fear in her eyes. The scent she left behind, faint jasmine and vanilla. Familiar.
Too familiar.
He rubbed his temples and finally gave up. He threw on a black shirt, rolled the sleeves to his elbows, and stalked downstairs toward the greenhouse where he often went to breathe.
Except this time… someone else was already there.
Ava stood under the moonlight, barefoot, tending to the flowers she once planted when she was still Lucien Blackwell's wife.
She didn't hear him approach until he was right behind her.
"You have a habit of showing up in places you shouldn't be," he said softly.
She spun around, startled, nearly dropping the small pot she held. "I, I didn't know anyone came here."
"It's my house," he reminded her, but his tone lacked heat.
There was silence between them.
Lucien walked forward, then knelt beside a wilting orchid. His fingers brushed the petals. "You planted these?"
Ava hesitated. "Yes."
"Funny. My mother said we've never had orchids here."
She swallowed. "Maybe she's mistaken."
His eyes flicked to her, sharp. But then, something shifted. His gaze softened. He reached out, almost without thinking and touched her wrist.
And then he froze.
A spark jolted through him. A rush of warmth. A memory.
Rain.
Her skin slick and cold against his. The two of them huddled under a broken umbrella. He was tucking her hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on her wrist as she laughed
"Lucien, we're going to get soaked."
"Then let it pour," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. "I want this moment burned into me."
Lucien's hand jerked back like he'd been burned.
He staggered to his feet, blinking hard.
Ava's heart pounded. "What is it?"
He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
"I... saw something," he muttered.
She froze. "What did you see?"
"I don't know." His voice was hoarse. "You. Me. In the rain. You were laughing. I said something... something about burning the moment into me."
Her throat tightened.
He remembered.
A fragment. A flicker. But it was real.
Ava struggled to keep her composure. "It must have been a dream."
"No," he whispered, stepping closer. "It was a memory. I'm sure of it."
Their eyes locked.
Lucien lifted a hand and gently touched her face.
"Who are you to me, Ava?" he asked, voice barely audible. "Why do I feel like I've known you forever?"
Ava blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat.
Because you loved me.
Because I was your wife.
Because we were happy, before it all shattered.
But she couldn't say any of that. Not yet.
"I'm just a maid, sir," she whispered. "Nothing more."
Lucien's jaw clenched, but he nodded slowly.
He didn't believe her.
And now… he would start digging.