Episode 3

The morning after the garden, Eirene barely spoke a word.

Not to Thalia, who met her with loud theories and even louder gasps.

Not to her father, who left a card on the breakfast table, pretending she didn’t hear him leave at 5 a.m. as always.

And not to her mother, who walked past her like they were strangers passing on the street.

But her thoughts… they wouldn’t shut up.

“You looked sad.”

“People like us carry things no one sees.”

“I see you anyway.”

Leonidas.

He wasn’t like the others. She had known that from the first moment he walked into the classroom like the world owed him nothing. He didn’t pretend. He didn’t flatter or manipulate. He simply existed, like a storm waiting for someone to notice the sky turning.

And now… he’d seen her in a moment no one was ever supposed to witness.

It scared her how comforting it felt.

⸻

By second period, Eirene was emotionally exhausted—and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

“Why do you look like someone ran over your favorite book?” Thalia whispered, nudging her as they sat in History.

“Because someone did,” she muttered.

“Was his name Leonidas?”

Eirene turned slowly. “Why are you obsessed with him?”

“Because you clearly are.”

“I am not.”

“You doodled him in your notebook yesterday.”

“That was not him.”

“He was literally wearing the same jacket.”

“Coincidence.”

Thalia raised a perfectly plucked brow. “You even shaded his scar.”

Eirene groaned. “Shut up.”

But she couldn’t stop her fingers from tracing the edge of her desk, remembering his voice in the garden. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her—not with pity, but understanding.

The way he didn’t try to fix her sadness.

Just sat with it.

Like he knew what it meant to be alone in a house filled with people.

⸻

After school, she found herself walking slower than usual.

As if her body was resisting the pull of the mansion she called home.

As if part of her was waiting… for something. Someone.

She paused by the gate, pretending to scroll her phone.

Just then, a shadow passed her.

“Waiting for a ride, rich girl?”

She looked up. Leonidas.

He had his backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones around his neck, and a half-smirk playing on his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing to her heart.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I’m waiting for the wind to carry me away.”

“Dramatic.”

“Says the guy who shows up in gardens under moonlight.”

He shrugged. “Fair.”

She hesitated. Then— “Do you always hang out in gardens?”

“Only when I think someone might need a witness to their breakdown.”

She blinked.

“That’s not a joke,” he added. “Sometimes the most dangerous place to fall apart is alone.”

Eirene stared at him. “Who are you?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

There it was again—that subtle sadness in his voice. The way he wore mystery like armor. She wanted to ask more. About his past. His family. Why he transferred here mid-semester. But something told her he wouldn’t answer.

Not yet.

So instead, she asked, “Do you want a ride?”

He blinked.

“I mean—” she gestured to the car idling at the curb, the one her driver had been waiting in for the past ten minutes. “I’m heading home anyway.”

He looked at the car. Then at her. Then smirked. “Afraid I’ll run off with your driver?”

“Honestly, I’d pay you to.”

He laughed, a soft, rare sound that made something flutter in her chest.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll take the ride. But only if you promise not to fall in love with me before we hit the highway.”

She rolled her eyes, opening the door. “I’d rather fall out of a moving vehicle.”

“Your loss.”

⸻

The drive was… quiet.

Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.

Just… calm.

Eirene stared out the window, watching trees blur past. Leonidas leaned back, legs stretched out, arms crossed, eyes closed.

As if he trusted her.

That was the strangest part.

When they arrived, he glanced out the window at the estate gates, raised an eyebrow, and muttered, “Damn.”

“What?”

“You live in a museum.”

“It’s a mausoleum.”

His lips twitched. “You’re funnier than you look.”

“And you’re moodier than you act.”

He tilted his head. “Keep digging, Eirene. You might hit something real.”

She froze. The way he said her name—soft, serious. Like it meant something.

Before she could answer, he was already out the door, walking off with a lazy wave.

She watched him until he turned the corner.

⸻

Inside, she found the dining hall empty.

A note sat at the edge of the table:

“Don’t forget your gown fitting for the gala tomorrow. Do not embarrass us. —Mother.”

Of course.

No warmth. No greeting. Just expectations.

She crumpled the note in her fist.

Then walked upstairs, slammed her door shut, and buried her face in her pillow.

⸻

Later that night, her sister knocked once before barging in.

“I picked out your gown,” Elara said. “Black. Simple. Won’t draw attention.”

“Thanks for the honor of dressing myself,” Eirene muttered.

Elara didn’t flinch. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t barge into my room, then.”

“You think I want to be here? I’m trying to help you survive this family.”

“I don’t want to survive. I want to matter.”

Elara hesitated.

Then said, quieter, “You don’t get to matter until you play the game right.”

Eirene looked away.

⸻

Midnight came like a thief, stealing the last of her energy.

Eirene opened her sketchbook again.

She drew the garden.

The fountain.

And him.

Leonidas, sitting beside her in silence.

She didn’t know why.

But something about that moment had branded itself inside her.

Maybe it was the way he didn’t ask her to explain her pain.

Or maybe it was how, when he walked away… she wished he hadn’t.

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