For a while, neither of them spoke.
The garden held its breath, as if the truth that had just been spoken needed time to settle—into the roots of the earth, into the space between them, into Maya herself.
After a moment, Dahlia continued.
“Now that you know this much,” she said, “you’ve likely already seen what it means.”
Maya didn’t speak, but she didn’t look away.
“Your relationship with Damien was never the issue,” Dahlia said. “It never was.” She paused briefly. “Especially when Damien himself carries Harrington blood.”
Maya’s chest tightened.
“The Lockwoods won’t stand in the way,” Dahlia added. “Not on those grounds.”
Dahlia didn’t continue. Her gaze drifted past Maya, toward the trees, toward the stillness beyond them—giving the words room to breathe.
Maya followed that sil
