Evangeline's stomach twisted. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention, to create another enemy when her own home already felt like a battlefield. If tension spilled from their walls of their village into the town, she feared she would be crushed beneath it.
"Sir Iverson," she murmured, bowing her head low, careful to keep her tone respectful, to show she knew her place. Better distant than too familiar— better cautious than reckless. The ladies' eyes still burned into her, their teacups shivering in restrained fury, and she felt their judgment like claws against her back.
"Iverson?" Adrian's voice lilted with amusement. "I thought I told you to cast aside such stiffness. Just Adrian—or Rian." His pale fingers lifted, reaching toward a lock of her hair as though claiming what wasn't his.
Evangeline flinched inwardly. Her hands smoothed her hair in a hasty, trembling gesture, as though she could erase his touch before it landed. She forced a small smile, a polite shield, but her eyes betrayed her, darting downward, refusing his gaze.
Serena saw it all— the strain in her sister's face, the way Adrian's stare lingered too long, too intently. Before the moment could stretch into something unbearable, she stepped in, her voice soft but bold.
"Sir Adrian," Serena called. When his eyes shifted to her, her lips curved into a gentle, disarming smile. "You see, my sister and I are facing quite a problem... we wished to attend the party and came here to buy a gown, but the clerk here seems to dislike our presence and was trying to drive us out."
Adrian listened, his smile sharpening as if this were some small amusement, while Eva's heart pounded harder. She could feel the walls pressing closer with each word Serena spoke.
There was no need to make this worse, no need to fight where they clearly weren't welcome. Her mother's pride and Serena's boldness would only dig the blade deeper.
"It's nothing serious," Evangeline blurted, her voice rushing in like a trembling hand trying to stop the spill of wine before it stained the carpet. "Truly— it doesn't matter. We could shop elsewhere. The party isn't for another week; there's plenty of time." Her words were soft, almost pleading for her family to heed, her eyes darting from Adrian to the clerk as though begging them all to let this go.
Adrian's gaze pinned her. "You seem nervous," he said, smiling at her unease. "What's the matter, Eva? You're not in the wrong here. Clearly some people do not respect you— and that is wrong."
Eva's throat tightened. She could feel the clerk's glare drilling into her, cold and accusing, as if she had betrayed her by dragging Adrian into this.
But she hadn't wanted that— she hadn't wanted any of this. Her hands wrung together at her skirts, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned white.
"No, it's..." she whispered, shaking her head, but her words faltered. Her chest felt heavy, her heart beating too fast. "It wasn't meant to sound like—" She stopped, biting down on her lip as though silence might undo the damage.
"Mama," she turned desperately toward Mrs. Crestmont, searching for an escape, "the tailor shop in our village also has gowns. Beautiful ones. We could still rent them. We don't need to—"
"Rent?" Mrs. Crestmont cut her off with a sharp huff, her pride bristling like a cat's fur. The very word was an insult, lowering them beneath the clerk's sneering eyes.
Evangeline's cheeks burned hot, shame biting her skin. She wished she could vanish from the shop entirely, fold herself into nothing. She knew her words had only worsened things—had only made her mother's pride sting deeper, and her own position weaker.
And then, as her mother's eyes flicked toward Adrian Iverson—studying him, weighing him—Evangeline's stomach sank further still.
"It would be great if only we could get the gown for Serena and Eva."
"It would be wonderful if only we could secure gowns for Serena and Eva."
"Mama—"
Evangeline's protest slipped out but Mrs. Crestmont's eyes snapped toward her, sharp like a whip. One look was enough to silence her— the kind of look that scolded her without words, the kind that warned her to hold her tongue or suffer the shame of defiance.
Evangeline swallowed hard. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. This isn't right... this will only backfire. He isn't someone we should owe.
Every instinct screamed at her to stop it, to say something, anything, to pull them away from this path. But her mother only pressed on, ignoring her daughter's pallor as though she were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"Is there nothing you could do to help us, Sir Adrian?" Mrs. Crestmont's tone softened, smoothed with practiced sweetness, as though she hadn't just cut Eva down with a glance.
Adrian Iverson smiled, his brown eyes fixed on Evangeline's pale face. Fear was written plainly across her features; she looked as though she might collapse under the weight of the moment.
And Adrian? He found it intoxicating.
She was a clever little sparrow, he thought. Since their first meeting, Eva had seen what others could not. She understood the suffocating rules of society, the sharp edge of expectation, the peril of one wrong step when everyone waited for her to fall. That awareness set her apart.
The other women he entertained had been blind, foolish things: loud, eager, tripping over themselves for attention, and never realizing the games being played around them. But
Evangeline wasn't blind. She braced herself against the dangers, sharp instincts guiding her, her restraint a quiet strength.
And Adrian? He savored it. He enjoyed the thought of winning her, of drawing her close until she had no one else left to lean on but him.
How exquisite it would be to play her savior. To catch her when she stumbled. To offer his hand when she had no choice but to take it. He could already picture it—the slow bending of her heart toward him. Not born of passion, but of something sweeter to him: gratitude tangled with guilt.
If he stepped in often enough, if he shielded her from every danger and humiliation, she would be unable to resist. Love would not come by choice, but by debt.
And no one can run from debt.
Before she finally understood that... she would be his. Entirely.
"Help? For certain," Adrian then looked toward the clerk and smiled. Though his eyes were gentle as his lovely smile, the clerk flinched, her gulp was apparent by how her throat had bobbed, "Iverson Family has always been a loyal customer to the tailor here, it should be easy for you to make an exception to not embarrass me, would you?"
Evangeline could see how the clerk held grudge with her eyes but her mother didn't care. Her eyes then moved to the quiet person in the room who had been studying the situation, the butler with the perfectly covered wings and translucent blue eyes.
He then smiled, a deep mocking smile, as though he found this situation funny. Then she heard him mutter, "Humans are always trapped to cages."
Though it was brief and whispered, Evangeline heard it well as he had muttered those words before turning away and out of the shop. Before the bell had stopped jingling, he had entered a black carriage with the black rose and raven carved on the door.
"Eva!" Serena beamed, tugging at her sister's hand with girlish excitement. Evangeline had been frozen, her emerald eyes fixed uneasily on the inky carriage that had pulled up outside. A chill had crept down her spine the moment she laid eyes on it, as though the shadows themselves had followed it into the room.
"How do you know Adrian?" Serena pressed eagerly.
"Sir Iverson," Evangeline corrected at once, her voice hushed but firm. "We are not supposed to call Seraphs by their given names— especially not when we are strangers to them, Serena."
Serena huffed, her lips pushing into a pout. "You always scold me. You act as if every Seraph is out to harm us. There are good ones here— like Sir Adrian. But you're always so paranoid. What happened in the past won't happen again, Eva. You expect the worst, and that's why people hate being near you. You bring down the mood."
The words hit like a slap. Evangeline faltered, her lips pursing as she couldn't find it in her to say a response.
"Serena," she managed, frowning, her voice tinged with hurt.
But Serena's face brightened again with mischief, her youthful boldness blotting out her sister's pain.
"I like him."
She didn't even whisper the words, her finger pointing not-so-subtly toward Adrian where he stood, his presence drawing every eye in the shop.
"Isn't he handsome? And wealthy? I wonder if I could make him like me. I'm pretty enough, after all."
Evangeline's heart sank further. She didn't have the strength to argue, not when exhaustion had already gnawed her spirit thin. Her voice came out dull, nearly flat, "You can try." Not that she meant it as encouragement—merely surrender.
Serena, however, took the words as a challenge. Straightening her shoulders, she smoothed her skirts and began gliding toward Adrian with renewed determination, her cheeks alight with girlish pride. At the same time, the clerk, slightly annoyed, ushered Mrs. Crestmont toward the racks of gowns.
Left behind, Evangeline instinctively drifted to the corner of the room, as far as possible from Lady Anny and the cluster of Seraphesses who whispered and watched like hawks. She folded her hands over her skirts, careful not to touch a single fabric on display, her stillness deliberate—almost an attempt to become invisible.
When she turned, hoping at least to look at the gowns from a safe distance, hushed voices pricked her ears. Two clerks lingered near the fitting rooms, whispering too low for most to hear—yet Eva caught every word.
"...from hell."
"Indeed. You'd never imagine he came from Hell with how charming he looks. That face... and the rumors— how fine he is even in bed."
A girlish giggle followed, quickly smothered.
"His only flaw is that black wing of his. But could you even call it a flaw? It looks majestic."
"But you know he despises anyone speaking of them. Rumor says he'd kill for less—for a single stare held too long."
"Dangerous and mighty..." The clerk's voice lowered in a dreamy sigh. "Isn't that the perfect recipe for a man?"
Evangeline's stomach knotted. Their words pressed against the unease already clawing inside her. Dangerous and mighty. That wasn't the recipe for perfection— it was the recipe for ruin. And yet, in this room full of fluttering admiration, she seemed to be the only one who felt it.
She sighed while watching Serena picked the purple gown and walking to the fitting room. Before she had entered completely, Serena whispered to Adrian and giggled, "Watch me, please."
Lady Anny was frowning, her ears sharp as she listened to Serena's obvious advances. As much as Evangeline would try to stop her sister, it didn't work and never worked.
Adrian then made his way towards her, smiling, "Your sister... she is..."
"Pretty," Eva continued.
"Not as pretty as you," he answered so smoothly, making her nervous. "You don't look too happy even though now you can try on the gowns. In fact, I noticed how you haven't been looking at any of the gowns."
"I will just wear any gown that I have in the house," she answered, her eyes moving at her mother who had sat down, clearly not bothered to bring her to try the gown. After all, the gowns here are all expensive, Mrs Crestmont could only afford one while thinking to get Evangeline something cheaper.
"That cannot be," Adrian frowned in exchange, "The reason why I had wanted to help both your sister and mother is so I can see you wear something luxurious."
"Ah no, it's not necessary."
"But it is," stressed Adrian, "It's not fair for you to wear something so tattered when your sister will be wearing a fine gown. Does your parents often do this? Make you sacrifice for your sister?"
His voice was loud enough for Mrs Crestmont who had somehow "accidentally" walked near them to hear.
At once, her mother walked forward and stared at her face, annoyance flashed on her face.
"Of course not, I love Evangeline a lot, all my love for my daughters have always been equal," Mrs Crestmont answered, "But sometimes Eva does get jealous when Serena gets all the attention."
Again.
Evangeline looked at her mother, hurt in her voice, "I do not feel jealous towards Serena. I am happy that she gets to wear the dress she wants and, Sir Iverson, it's nothing as you mention, I just don't like the idea of wasting too much money on dresses I won't be able to wear twice."
Adrian smiled, as though glad that she fell to his trick, "Then how about I buy you a gown?"