Chapter 48
The Plane Tree Road

A white pigeon alighted softly on the balcony rail. Folding its wings, it walked straight to the feed bowl as if it belonged there. The sunset washed its white feathers in shades of gold as it pecked leisurely at the grain.

“Phoebe.”

From beyond the window, Matthias quietly murmured the name Layla had cried so desperately. Phoebe. What an ostentatious name for nothing more than a pigeon. His soft, mocking breath escaped like a sigh—mockery not for the bird, but for that bewildering woman who adored it.

Rising from the sofa, he opened the door to the balcony. The breeze off the river was damp and chill. Even as he approached, the pigeon showed no wariness, intent only on its meal. A gentle bird, unlike its anxious mistress.

Matthias leaned against the rail. The glow of dusk sank over him. Closing his eyes, he heard the crisp rustle of falling leaves in the autumn woods. Silence, but beautiful silence.

Everywhere in Arvis, it was autumn.
And in that autumn, there was Layla.

Cycling to work in the mornings, returning tired but steady in the evenings. Helping the gardener when she had time. Wandering the forest with a basket, gathering mushrooms and wild berries.

Arvis was whole. Everything in its place.

That completeness satisfied him. It erased the distaste he had felt when he became Linda Etman’s secret ally—her informant—in her frantic bid to prevent her son’s marriage.

Layla was where she belonged.

Contentment spread through him like a fine intoxication. Opening his eyes, Matthias watched the pigeon finish its meal and take flight—toward the cottage. Back to its mistress.

He was sure now the bird would return. Tomorrow, the day after. He had no interest in a pigeon’s heart, but he knew how to train one.

A courier pigeon flies where it can feed and feel safe. He had learned that in war. When radio signals failed or risked interception, they used pigeons. The principle was the same—food, safety, repetition.

Phoebe had learned: flying to Kyle Etman’s window brought nothing. Then a new source of food appeared. Secure, reliable. And so the pigeon now flew toward him. Smarter than its foolish mistress.

His eyes darkened as he recalled that day of the autumn outing. The fleeting smile Layla had given—and snatched away the moment their eyes met.

But she had shown that smile to the doctor’s son, freely.

At the thought, the shadow left by that smile deepened.

Since childhood, Layla had never laughed before him. She had never held back her tears either. So he had made her cry. If she would not laugh, then tears would suffice. Laughter or tears—it mattered little. If all he could give her was pain, then pain would do.

But what if he could give her something else?

Lately, that question lingered. He no longer wanted her frightened or furious. He wanted Layla to look only at him—sometimes pleading, sometimes smiling in joy when he granted her what she begged for.

Now he knew desire.
He wanted her. All of her.

“You’ve gotten fat, Phoebe.”

Layla frowned as she turned her pigeon over in her hands. At first she thought the fluffed feathers were just its winter coat, but no—the bird had truly grown plump.

“Is it just the autumn?”

Coo, coo. Phoebe trilled as if to feign innocence.

“Where are you finding food? Kyle isn’t here anymore.”

The words slipped out unthinkingly—and froze her in place.

That name still stung. It brought tears to her eyes every time. But she refused to cry. She had promised. I’ll be fine. So you must be fine too.

So she would be fine. For Kyle’s sake.

Breathing deeply, she steadied herself and let Phoebe go. The pigeon wandered the yard, then winged off toward the forest.

It was an ordinary day.

She finished her morning chores. Bill saw her off as she set out for school. The rattle of her bicycle chain mingled with the crisp air along Arvis’s maple-lined roads.

“Teacher!”

Children waved when they spotted her, and she dismounted to walk with them into the schoolyard.

Perhaps not merely ordinary—closer to happy.

The children were well-behaved. They scored high on their arithmetic and spelling. The classroom warmed by the stove, her lunchtime chatter with Miss Greber, the clear autumn sky overhead—Layla liked it all.

So she smiled.
Every time Kyle’s memory surfaced, she forced herself to smile. All the way until the end of the school day.

But as she neared Arvis, pedaling the road she had so often traveled with Kyle, loneliness surged—the loneliness she had suppressed all day.

She stopped at the roadside.

So foolish.

Countless memories rose, merging into one heavy regret.

They were not siblings by blood. They could not spend a lifetime as brother and sister. Nor, as a man and woman, could they remain only friends forever. Perhaps their parting had been inevitable from the start. So why had they dared love, hurt each other, and end like this…?

Her vision blurred. She shook her head, bit her lip. With eyes closed, she whispered the old vow: I’ll be fine. So you must be fine too.

She held back the tears. Then she mounted her bicycle again. A black car passed her on the road.

Matthias had stopped his car at the head of the plane tree road. Sending his attendants back, he remained alone—just as he had that summer a year ago.

He strolled leisurely, waiting. Leaves crunched under his polished shoes. The faint sound of a bicycle grew nearer. He slowed.

Layla’s bicycle drew close, then stopped a short distance away. Matthias turned. Just as he expected—Layla, standing beside her bicycle.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

Awkward, glancing around, she bowed. Her hair, braided and pinned, had come loose, strands scattering in the wind. She was clumsy with adornment—always too neat or, like today, too loose. Yet somehow, not unpleasant.

Matthias inclined his head with perfect posture, one hand clasped behind his back. Layla blinked up at him, clutching her handlebars, her face taut with unease.

“Then… excuse me.”

She bowed again, pushing her bicycle past him.

“Be a lady, Layla.”

She froze, foot on the pedal.

“You know. If you behave like a lady, then I can behave like a gentleman.”

He took a step toward her.

“And only if I am a gentleman, will your pigeon stay safe.”

At that, Layla turned.

Her brows furrowed. She dismounted. Matthias tilted his head, looking down at her. Fear shimmered in her eyes, but her lips twisted in stubborn defiance.

Ah, such a temper.

He began to walk, unhurried, as if nothing had been said. She trailed behind, pushing her bicycle.

“I don’t recall telling you to be a servant, though.”

He looked back. She flinched, lifting her gaze at last.

“I… yes, Your Grace.”

Stubborn, but not foolish. She understood, though she still hung back one step.

So Matthias took a step back himself—closing the distance.

She matched his pace then, and the two of them walked side by side down the plane tree road, the bicycle between them.

Neither spoke. Only the crunch of leaves and the soft turn of the bicycle wheels filled the cool evening air.

For such long legs, he walks so slowly.

Layla glanced sideways at him. He had always moved at an unhurried pace, but tonight seemed even slower. Or perhaps it was the awkwardness making time stretch.

He was Kyle’s height, but his presence loomed larger. Maybe it was his posture, so straight, so composed. Or the sharp weight of his gaze. His build, too, was broader, stronger.

So that’s why.

Her eyes traveled upward—his pale, smooth hand. His dark gray coat. His neatly tied cravat. His expressionless mouth. And then… his eyes.

Blue eyes, fixed on her.

Her breath caught. She should look away, but she couldn’t.

Their gazes locked. Matthias’s lips curved, and he spoke slowly.