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E leanor walked through the gardens, seeking a moment of solitude. She had spent the morning in the drawing room under James’s watchful eye and Graham’s overprotective presence, both of them hovering like guards anticipating an attack.

But now, she needed to breathe.

While the two men planned out the next seven days of her life, she slipped out the back doors of Ashworth Manor and into the summer air, the scent of damp earth and lake mist settling around her.

Moments like these, she enjoyed the quiet morning, cherishing the chirps of birds in the tree. After she had been hiding from Society for so long, she realized that being alone wasn’t so bad. Then again, being in love was even better.

She rounded the hedgerow near the marble fountain, and suddenly, a shadow moved in front of her path. Eleanor froze.

A tall, broad-shouldered man blocked her path. His blazing eyes and smirky grin were too familiar. The sight of him sent a cold chill racing down her spine.

Lord Sebastian Redgrave.

His golden hair was neatly combed, his coat pressed and pristine, but there was something different about him—something sharper. He was not the same man she had last seen gasping for breath on the rocks of the lake. And yet his smile was just as cruel.

“Ah,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “There you are, Lady Eleanor. I’m happy that my instincts were correct and that I would find you here, in your favorite spot on the estate.”

Eleanor’s breath locked in her throat, but she refused to move. She would not run. Not from him.

“You, my lord, are unwelcome here.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re as lovely as ever. I wondered if you had changed.”

It was just like before. Her words passed through his head without registering. She clenched her hands together. “You should leave. Now!”

His lips twitched. “And yet here I am, not planning to fulfill your request.”

She forced her voice to stay calm. “If my brother or Graham find you here—”

He chuckled. Low. Dark. Amused.

“I suspect His Grace would love to kill me,” he murmured. “He always did have an unfortunate sense of honor. But I’m not afraid of him, especially when they don’t even know where you are.”

Eleanor’s pulse pounded. Redgrave had been watching. Waiting for her until she was alone.

A shudder ran through her, but she refused to let it show. “What do you want?”

His smile faded. “I think you know.”

He took another step forward. Too close.

She fought the urge to step back. Fought the memories slamming into her—the way he had once whispered in her ear that she belonged to him, the way he had smirked when she had told him no.

Her voice was cold steel. “I do not belong to you, and I never will, Lord Redgrave.”

His jaw twitched, his eyes darkening. “You’re wrong about that.”

Her stomach twisted.

His expression remained composed, but his voice dipped lower, more dangerous. “Did you think you could simply push me aside and forget me? That I would disappear?”

Eleanor swallowed. “You should have.”

Redgrave’s fingers twitched at his side. “I don’t like unfinished business, my dear.”

He took another step forward—too fast, too sudden.

Before she could react, his gloved hand caught her wrist.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse hammering. “Let me go.”

He leaned in, his breath brushing against her cheek. “Not yet.”

Panic surged, but she fought it. He would not break her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She lifted her chin, her voice steady. “If you lay a hand on me, I will scream.”

“And what would that accomplish? Do you think anyone will reach you in time?”

Fear slithered down her spine. She was alone.

“What do you want?” she demanded again.

Redgrave smiled—a slow, chilling curve of his lips. “I want what should have been mine.”

“You think you can threaten me into marriage?” she whispered. “That I will ever be yours?”

His eyes flashed with something cruel.

“You nearly killed me once, Eleanor,” he said softly, almost conversationally. “Do you really think I have forgotten?”

His grip tightened. Her pulse roared in her ears.

“I could have ruined you,” he continued, “but I was merciful. I let you walk away. And yet here we are, beginning our playful dance of seduction once more.”

Eleanor forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice shaking with fury, not fear. “So, you came back for revenge?”

“You owe me, Eleanor.”

Her breath caught. Owe him?

Before she could demand an explanation, a sharp voice cut through the garden. “Step away from her.”

Redgrave stiffened.

Eleanor whipped her head around, and relief crashed through her. Graham stood at the edge of the path, his black coat billowing slightly in the breeze, his expression carved from ice. But his eyes—his eyes burned.

Redgrave released Eleanor’s wrist. He turned to face Graham fully. “Ah. There you are, Sinclair.”

Eleanor backed away toward Graham. His presence was a force, steady and unshakable, and she clung to it.

“You have five seconds to leave before I make you regret setting foot near her.” Graham’s voice was lethal.

Redgrave chuckled. Unbothered. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “No need for dramatics. We were simply… catching up.”

Graham’s expression did not change, but his fists clenched. “You will not touch her again.”

Redgrave arched a brow. “And if I do?”

The rage simmering beneath Graham’s skin was barely contained. “If you ever lay a hand on her again,” he said, “you will not live to regret it.”

A beat of silence. Then Redgrave laughed.

“Ah, Sinclair,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You always did have a habit of fighting for things that were never yours.”

Graham took a step forward, his body coiled, ready. “You have five seconds to leave before I make you regret stepping foot near her.”

Redgrave smirked. Then, before anyone could react, he struck.

It happened too fast. A glint of metal. A sharp movement.

Graham grunted, staggering backward.

Eleanor gasped. Redgrave had a knife. And Graham was bleeding.

A red stain bloomed at his side, and rage surged inside Eleanor like fire. She did not think. She acted.

With all her strength, she snatched the decorative iron garden shears from the fountain’s ledge and lunged. Redgrave barely had time to react before Eleanor drove the shears into his forearm. He roared, stumbling backward, clutching his arm in pain.

Eleanor stood her ground, her chest heaving, her grip on the weapon steady. “Touch him again, and I swear I will finish what I started years ago.”

Redgrave’s smirk finally faltered. Blood dripped from his sleeve, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his gaze.

Graham was still standing. His face was pale, his jaw clenched against the pain, but he looked at Eleanor with something fierce, something proud.

Redgrave staggered back. He looked between them, then chuckled darkly.

“You’ve grown bold, Eleanor.” He wiped the blood from his arm. “But this isn’t over.” And with that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hedgerow.

The moment he was gone, Eleanor dropped the shears and turned to Graham. He was leaning against the fountain, his breathing ragged.

“Graham,” she gasped, stepping forward, pressing her hands against the wound at his side. “We need to get you into the manor.”

He exhaled heavily, his hand covering hers. “Eleanor,” he rasped, his eyes locking on to hers. Then he smiled. “Remind me never to cross you.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her heart still pounding. And as she pressed against his wound, trying to keep him from bleeding out, she knew—Redgrave may have returned, but she was no longer the same frightened girl she had once been.

And this time, she would win.