Mary Ann’s POV
I stared at Modric across the breakfast table.
The room had gone strangely quiet after he ordered Greta to prepare my favorite cinnamon drink. Even the servants seemed to move more carefully, as though they understood something unusual had happened.
Modric remembered.
Not only that I liked cinnamon.
He remembered the moonberry syrup.
It was a small detail from years ago, buried beneath academy cruelty, public humiliation, and everything that came after. I had stopped ordering the drink because he and Kylian mocked it. I remembered Modric calling it childish in front of other students while they laughed.
Yet he remembered exactly how it was prepared.
“How did you know?” I asked.
Modric kept his eyes on his breakfast.
“I already told you.”
“You said you remembered i
