I slammed my hand on the steering wheel, scowling as I twisted the signet ring on my thumb.

Forty-nine seconds left on this godforsaken red light.

I swore under my breath, resisting the urge to grab the gun in my bag and blast the traffic signal into oblivion.

Uncle Willy—full name Wilhelm Keller, majordomo of Château Valois-sur-Loire—had called me while I was at work. The message? He had arrived at the château. He was there. Right now.

I didn’t even hesitate. Dropped an important meeting like it was a hot potato and bolted out of the office. Twenty minutes—that was all it should’ve taken to get back.

Yet today, it felt like twenty years.

And now, just to spite me, this stupid red light refused to change. Not that I could’ve run it anyway—traffic was so jam-packed that even an ant couldn’t squeeze through.

I glared at the light as if I could intimidate it into submission.

He’s still at the château, right? He’s waiting for me, isn’t he?

…Waiting for me? Ha. Wishful thinking. Why the hell would he wait for me?

What did I even mean to him? An older sister? A friend? Just someone he happened to know? Or worse—an irrelevant someone?

My chest tightened.

It had been a year. Had he grown taller? Probably. Better looking? Definitely.

I’d never seen a boy as beautiful as him. No clue how someone like that even happened.

I still remembered the first time we met. I was fifteen, he was ten.

Grandpa Renan was laughing with his old friend, Caspar Grimaldi. The two of them were practically royalty in Crystalholm—business titans, legends, best buds who somehow never ran out of things to talk about.

I approached, greeted them politely, and then Caspar gestured behind him.

And out stepped him.

A tiny boy, small frame, small face—but huge eyes. The kind of big, luminous eyes you only saw in oil paintings, framed by lashes that probably made angels weep.

Caspar had nudged him forward. ‘Go on, say hello to Annelise.’

And he had. His voice had been soft, careful, with that childlike lilt that somehow managed to be both hesitant and endearing. There had been a hint of a plea in it, an unspoken like me?

I’d melted on the spot.

I had never been one for kids, never wanted a little brother, but in that moment, I wanted to keep him.

I had, quite literally, never spent a full day entertaining anyone before. That day, I did. I let him drag me around, let him talk in his slow, careful English, his German accent making each word sound like he was unwrapping a delicate gift. I had even found myself watching his lips move as he spoke, completely fascinated.

He had been so polite, so gentle. Like a porcelain doll that had somehow come to life.

After dinner, he left with his grandfather.

And I had felt an emptiness I hadn’t expected.

A blaring horn yanked me back to reality.

Green light.

I slammed my foot on the gas and sped towards the estate.

The road was lined with trees turning gold, the early autumn wind teasing the leaves into little, lazy spirals. It was poetic, in a melancholic kind of way—the whole leaves unwillingly parting from their branches thing. If I were in a better mood, I might’ve thought it was beautiful. But right now, all I cared about was getting to Château Valois-sur-Loire.

At the crest of the hill, the estate loomed—a sprawling, half-hidden manor that looked like something straight out of a European countryside postcard. From the outside, it was all ivy-covered stone walls and old-world charm. Step inside, though, and between the armed guards and state-of-the-art security, you’d think you had stumbled into a billionaire mafia headquarters.

The gates opened automatically as my car approached. A few guards stood at attention, nodding as I passed.

I barely acknowledged them.

By the time I reached the main entrance, I was practically vibrating with impatience. The second I parked, I was out of the car, storming inside—only to find the grand hall completely devoid of him.

‘Miss Anne, welcome back.’

I turned to find Uncle Willy standing there, ever the picture of composed efficiency.

‘Where is he?’ I demanded.

Uncle Willy didn’t even blink. ‘The two masters are in the garden. Miss Linnea and the young Grimaldis are there as well.’

Translation: Yes, he’s still here, but he’s not alone.

Uncle Willy was the only person who knew how I felt about him. He’d been concerned at first, back when he’d figured it out. Worried about what it meant, about where it would lead. But over time, he had become my ally, my informant—the one who always let me know when Leander Grimaldi was back in town.

Which, tragically, was only once a year.

‘Thanks, Uncle Willy.’ I took off, practically flying towards the garden.

Behind me, I heard him sigh. ‘Miss Anne…’ His voice was soft, almost resigned. ‘Are you sure about this?’

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t want to.

Because, deep down, I knew exactly what he was asking.

Is this really a good idea? Will this end well?

We both knew the answer.

This road wasn’t easy. It probably led nowhere.

But knowing that had never stopped me before.

At the entrance of the garden, I came to a halt, forcing myself to take a deep breath.

Laughter rang through the air—deep, warm, unmistakable. My grandfather and Caspar, caught up in some conversation, clearly enjoying themselves.

I steadied myself, unwilling to let them see how rattled I was.

Especially him.

I stepped into the garden, my heartbeat slightly erratic—not that I’d ever admit it. It had been a year. A year could change a lot. Had it changed him?

No.

Not him.

From the moment I met Leander Grimaldi at ten years old, through every encounter until now—nineteen and still unnervingly, almost infuriatingly untouched by the world—he had remained the same. Unspoiled. Serene.

Impossibly clean in a way that had nothing to do with soap and everything to do with whatever strange magic made him him.