Part 1
Philip leaned back against the worn leather seat of his motorcar, feeling the gentle hum of the mana engine beneath him as Lydia steered through Yortinto's winding cobblestone streets. He still couldn't quite believe how smoothly his boardroom eting had gone. He'd expected half the directors—those older n in stiff collars and waistcoats—to declare his proposals outlandish. Yet, to his amazent, they had mostly welcod his ideas with only a sprinkling of polite skepticism.
He ntally revisited the broad oval table of dark walnut, the curl of pipe drifting toward the lofty ceiling, and the faint glow of runes hovering over the magical tablets set at each seat. The handful of executives, mostly ladies, who attended the eting for technical support, worked diligently on their tablets with barely contained smiles. More than once, he noticed the pride in their eyes whenever an operation-related question was directed their way by a director.
Now, in the aftermath of that unexpectedly fruitful session, a concrete plan had been ford to mold public perception of his impending duel. The editorial team and so discreet connections in Yortinto's press circles would ensure all the necessary perspectives would reach all the necessary audiences. Now, what remained was how to convince Laura to his cause without inadvertently infuriating her fiancé further or escalating the scandal more. Having Lydia or anyone representing the Redwood family approach Laura directly might set tongues wagging, but contacting her via her law firm could be misconstrued as intimidation or hidden coercion, neither of which would be taken well by Laura, her fiancé, or the public. He massaged his temple, quietly lanting how a simple instinct to do good got him into such a ss.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, he barely registered Lydia slowing down for a carriage that just passed onto their lane in front of them. An uncanny sense of déjà vu tugged at his mind—had he encountered this exact scene before? But he just couldn't seem to recall that exact mory. Then, the carriage stopped at the next intersection, effectively blocking their way.
Lydia gradually slowed the vehicle to a halt. "This city and its carriages," she muttered, tightening her grip on the wheel. Philip braced for a possible confrontation—he half-expected an assassin or another eccentric noble to get off the carriage. What happened instead made his jaw drop.
A tall, athletic redhead hopped off the carriage first. A low-slung belt holstered a sleek pistol, giving her a roguish flair at odds with her refined frock coat. She then turned back, extending a gloved hand toward the carriage door. At that mont, as Philip watched it unfold through the motorcar's windshield—and for so strange reason, so flower petals began swirling into the street from no apparent source.
A second hand erged from the carriage, adorned in immaculate white lace. Then, slowly, like the reveal of a stage star under a spotlight, a figure stepped out: a woman of bewitching grace, draped in a pastel gown so fluid it looked as though it moved by its own breeze. Then, suddenly, a gust of wind turned the petals, swivelling around the lady like a beautiful backdrop. Then, another gust of wind lifted her golden hair, framing features that seed expertly sculpted by an artist with a flair for perfection.
She placed one dainty slipper on the cobbles, then another, radiating an almost royal calm as nearby onlookers paused in mid-step on the walkways. In an instant, she straightened, gazing ahead—an image of poised elegance. Her green eyes shimred with quiet amusent, and her lips curved into a tender, nearly playful smile. Philip's heart did a startled flip, like an arrow had just whizzed by him.
"Master Philip?" Lydia asked in a taut whisper, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Maybe we should drive around?"
But Philip heard nothing. Across the windshield, the redheaded lady respectfully moved aside, revealing the blonde woman in full regal splendor. More of those petals fluttered overhead, drifting onto the pavent around her. The entire street seed to hush, as if entranced. At that mont, her gaze flicked directly—yes, directly—through the windshield at Philip.
She blinked, and a faint smile curved her lips. He froze, face flaming as though soone had caught him in a scandalous act. But then, looking around, he noticed that he wasn't the only one inadvertently gawking at the lady. Everyone seed as srized and stunned by her sudden appearance as he was.
Then a jolt of recognition struck him like lightning: That face! Those impossibly perfect cheekbones, that aristocratic bearing... wasn't that the feature of soone who called himself his best friend? A certain flamboyant colonel who could practically pass for a fashion model on any given day. Philip's mind reeled. Kendrick?! Oh no! Was he srized by Kendrick just now? Suddenly, heat rushed to Philip's cheeks. Had he just spent this entire ti drooling over ... his best bro in this world? A sense of embarrassnt washed over him. Did he just get pranked? He knew Kendrick was a bit flamboyant and eccentric, but this was beyond eccentric.
"Enough," he whispered under his breath, half-hoping to suppress the embarrassnt by putting a quick end to this prank. Unable to bear the tension, he impulsively unlatched the door and stepped out, half expecting Kendrick to say "I got you there, didn't I?" But once he stood on the street, the perspective changed. In the direct light, he could see differences—much softer facial features, a more petite fra, and a full and alluring figure. Relief cascaded over him. This lady wasn't Kendrick after all. But then another nervousness settled in as he just realized that he did not know the lady at all—and how was he going to interact with her. Great—now I've been caught gawking by a complete stranger and proactively initiated an interaction without the slightest idea of how I am going to proceed. And I know absolutely nothing about her. He swallowed, trying to regain composure, but his tongue refused to cooperate.
Before he could decide whether to bow, speak, or run back to the motorcar, the blonde woman took several graceful steps forward, bridging the distance as flower petals continued to drift around. In one fluid motion, she threw her arms around his waist, embracing him as though they were long-lost sweethearts. The unexpected contact nearly made him jump out of his skin. Yet sohow, her warmth seeped through his coat. He froze, arms half-raised, while she buried her face against his shoulder, tangling him in soft golden hair and the intoxicating scent of perfu.
He tried to say "Excuse !" but the words got strangled. Then her voice flowed in a low, elegant rush, like she'd been rehearsing a speech in her head:
"Oh, Philip... I've finally co to see you again, dearest. I've missed you so terribly. Please, don't avoid anymore. Let share your troubles, let stand by your side, and carry whatever burden you bear..."
She continued, each phrase more poetic than the last, while he flailed internally. The onlookers around them were stunned and confused. Philip, on the other hand, was losing all sense of equilibrium. Her large bosom pressed up against his chest. Yep, definitely not Kendrick. Her hair brushed over his shoulder, her gentle grip firm. Caught between embarrassnt and an absurd rush of... well, sothing... he managed a strangled breath. Who is she? Not another ex-romantic partner please.
He couldn't process anything beyond the fact that a woman who was just a few monts ago the embodint of grace and beauty was now tightly latching onto him in an embrace that bordered on scandalous, while speaking in the most intimate and romantic tone he'd ever heard. His heart pounded, adrenaline spiked, and a hundred questions darted through his mind. But for now, he remained silent, trapped between the warmth of her hug, the swirl of real flower petals around them, and the uncertain sense that his life had just gotten a lot stranger.
Part 2
The embrace felt like it lasted forever, with her arms so snug around his waist, her cheek and those ridiculously real bosom curves pressed against him. A bright flush spread across his face as passersby either gawked openly or tried to avert their eyes, with so won rather aggressively tugging their starstruck husbands and boyfriends away.
Finally, the blonde lady loosened her grip. She drew back with a soft gasp, blinking as if she'd only just rembered that public hugging for an extended period was not, in fact, standard etiquette. Her gloved hands flew to her lips, face glowing with both delight and mortification.
"Oh dear... oh dear," she breathed, gathering herself and dipping into a poised, ladylike curtsy. "My apologies, Captain Philip. I was so overco with excitent at seeing you again that I quite forgot all propriety." She pressed a hand to her heart. "I—I hope you don't think I'm a shaless woman. I truly couldn't help myself."
Comically, a smattering of onlookers, still stunned by her enchanting beauty, began nodding as though trying to justify her sudden outburst of affection. A few wives in the crowd started hauling their entranced partners away, huffing about "respectable ladies do not run into random n's embraces," which only compounded Philip's embarrassnt. He sensed a hundred eyes bearing down on him, and the red-haired bodyguard was eyeing him too, pistol resting ominously on her hip.
Philip cleared his throat, attempting to regain any shred of composure. "N-no, not at all, Miss. Er..." He hesitated, uncertain how to address her.
A flicker of heartbreak passed through her gaze. "You don't... rember , do you?" She gave him a trembling smile that threatened to split into tears. "Of course you wouldn't," she said, suddenly stepping back into a spotlight of her own imagination, apparently channeling a Shakespearean actress. "I told myself this would happen. I knew you wouldn't recall our fleeting days of youth. A man like you, so steadfast, so devoted—once you fix your heart on Rosetta, no other na can linger there."
"E-excuse —?" Philip blurted.
But her soliloquy was already in full swing. Clasping her hands over her chest, she turned sideways, lifting her chin with tragic resolve. "Yes, yes, I understand. Elora is but a na to you. It's nothing compared to the na Rosetta, the sweetest word in the world to your tongue. Even after Lady Rosetta canceled your engagent ... it shattered your heart, and yet you continue to love her, even after she treated you so heartlessly!" Her voice quivered with lodramatic flair. "I know how unwavering your devotion is. That is precisely why I have adored you for so long."
Philip opened his mouth, about to explain that he was not quite as unwavering as rumors claid, but she sailed on, eyes brimming with tears. "You must think scandalous. Throwing myself upon you so brazenly—" She glanced at a growing semicircle of curious onlookers, "—like a wanton actress onstage. But oh, how these pangs in my heart tornt , Philip! I cannot quell my love, even if your heart forever belongs to another woman!"
She wobbled dangerously, as if threatening to swoon on the spot. The red-haired guard gasped, lunging to support her. "M-my lady, be careful—"
Philip instinctively stepped forward as well, concerned. At the sa mont, the lady staggered left, and his knee lightly bumped hers. She gave a soft little gasp—like she'd just received a grand romantic signal—then promptly toppled into his arms.
"O-oh goodness, I'm so sorry!" he exclaid, trying to stand her upright without tangling their limbs further. In his anxiety, though, his hand ended up on her waist, and she almost lted on the spot.
"You do care for ," she whimpered, gazing at him with shining eyes. "You touched of your own accord!"
A rush of color scorched Philip's face. "N-no, I wasn't— I just— You nearly fainted! Of course I had to—"
She gave a shaky smile, apparently certain he was a gallant knight swooping in to rescue her from her plight. The scene was so ridiculously theatrical that Philip half-expected soone to start playing violin in the background.
"I—I guess it's a good thing you're safe," he mumbled, fully aware that half the street was enthralled by their fiasco. It appeared that he could never get away from the constant bombardnt of forr entanglents.
The lady's eyes glimred as she clung to his lapel. "Philip, you are always so instinctively protective toward , you see?" Her voice dropped in reverent awe. "That's what I love about you. I tried to forget you, but I cannot help it. My love just burns for you day and night."
And then, without warning, perhaps buoyed by adrenaline or delirious euphoria, she threw her arms around him again. Another hug. Philip felt that all-too-familiar softness pressing against his chest, and this ti his body reacted in the most embarrassing way possible: he felt a distinct, involuntary stirring below his belt. Heat surged into his cheeks as he prayed that she hadn't noticed. But from the small gasp she made, she definitely felt sothing.
She blinked, pink spreading across her cheeks in an excited flush. "Oh my," she breathed. "Philip, I just felt... your ... loving reciprocation, yes. I can tell. Oh, how happy that makes !"
His mind reeled. She must have noticed his entire physiology responding. Good heavens, how humiliating. He tried to pull back, but her hold was as strong as a wrestler.
She tilted her head dreamily. "Ah... so it wasn't in vain that I dedicated all those years to studying dicine as the only woman in that university. I honed my observation skills to sense even the faintest... reactions."
"Y-you did?" he croaked, uncertain if he was more astounded by her mania or the revelation that she'd been one of the few female dical students in Yortinto. "That's... impressive."
"Yes! And everything was for this day, so that I might fully appreciate every flicker of feeling in you, Philip," she declared, sounding a little too fervent. "Oh, how I've longed to see you again, though I never dared hope you'd let embrace you so tightly."
Philip's heart hamred faster, quite sure that every poor bystander was either swooning or stifling giggles. Perhaps so had started taking notes for tomorrow's gossip. The red-haired bodyguard face-pald in the background, shaking her head as if resigned to this daily routine.
Elora—he finally recalled hearing that na sowhere in her earlier speech—bead at him with the euphoria of a woman whose dearest wish had just co true. anwhile, Philip half-expected the paving stones to open and swallow him whole. He wanted to vanish from the watchful stares.
But just then, Elora caught her breath and, still clinging to him, launched into another impassioned outburst:
"You know... every night in my dream, I see you, I feel you... and now you are here in my embrace. How miraculous!"
She paused, as though relishing the sheer poetic majesty of it all. "I—I didn't actually believe this day would ever co," she confessed breathily. "But all those evenings, I dread precisely of a mont like this. But I never thought it would ever beco reality."
Philip nearly choked on air. He couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or hide under a rock.
Elora gazed up with stars in her eyes, clearly oblivious to his bemused panic. "Yes, you are always in my heart, whether you love or not," she said.
In the end, he stood there, flustered beyond words, pinned by a lady's unstoppable passion and her codic knack for lodramatic tributes to star-crossed lovers. A swirl of real flower petals drifted down again.
Philip dreaded another entanglent, all too conscious of how little ti he had left until the impending duel. Yet as if reading his thoughts, Elora stilled her theatrical lant mid-swoon, fixing him with a gaze so calm and assured it belied her lovesick facade. "I have already spoken to Laura," she murmured, her polished tone revealing a far keener mind than her earlier actions would have suggested. "She had co to fully appreciate the importance of convincing her fiancé to investigate the true circumstance behind that photo."
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