“These are sensational,” he said. “Not just the concept, but the ribbons, the design…” But the look in his eyes conveyed something else.
You are sensational.
And for what remained of the day, the sky shone brighter than usual, and the air smelled sweet and fresh.
Daisy felt like she had her friend again.
BREAKING POINT
Alastair’s world had tilted on its axis.
The brain was a peculiar thing—locking away crucial memories one moment, offering fleeting glimpses of the inconsequential in the next. It allowed him to function, to speak, to reason, all while withholding the very moments that should define him.
On one hand, Alastair knew himself. Or at least, he thought he did. He knew the kind of man he was, the principles he stood for. Yet on the other, entire stretches of his life—recent events that should have been crystal clear—remained maddeningly out of reach.
But standing outside his townhouse in Mayfair, something had shifted. The curtain had lifted, just slightly.
And Daisy…
She had been there, not just in the present, but in his past. The realization left him breathless.
A flood of emotions followed. Longing. Regret. Something deeper, more complicated.
He remembered that they had begun as friends. And just asDaisy had told him, their friendship had blossomed into something more.
For as long as he could remember, he’d been set apart from other boys his age—too privileged to be one of them, too isolated to form true bonds. Then he’d stumbled across her on his father’s land, this fierce, golden-haired girl who didn’t care about titles or expectations. She had seen him for the person he was, not the duke he was meant to become.
She had given him something to look forward to, a reason to anticipate life beyond the stiff, preordained existence laid out before him. He’d imagined a future with her—Daisy as his lover, as his wife, bearing his children, laughing with him as they carved out their own place in the world.
Oh, but along with being head over heels in love, he had been painfully naïve.
Unfortunately, the memory that still escaped him—what his mind had locked away—was why he had abandoned her.
Why would he have left someone who had meant the world to him?
The question gnawed at him. What could have been so insurmountable, so impossible, that he had not returned to claim her? Never written? Never followed through with his promises?
And why would his mind allow him to recall the tenderness, the passion—but not the betrayal?
“You’re quiet,” Daisy said, breaking into his thoughts as they walked side by side back to her house.
Alastair blinked, dragging himself back to the present.
The district she lived in wasn’t even a mile from Mayfair, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world.
That was something he hadn’t understood when they were younger. He’d thoughtlessly failed to comprehend the barriers between them, the walls society had built to keep them apart. How had he not seen it? How had he been so blind?
And worse—why hadn’t he fought harder? Why hadn’t he tracked her down?
“I remember you.” His voice emerged thick, rough with emotion.
Daisy’s steps faltered, but she kept walking. “Everything?”
“Mostly. The beginning.” And the middle.
Not the end.
They reached her door, and when she lifted the key, her hands were visibly shaking. Not just her hands—her shoulders, her chest. Her breaths came unevenly, betraying the turmoil she tried to hide.
