The flicker of doubt that had quietly emerged was like a stone tossed into the center of a calm lake, sending ripples across the pool of devotion that had been still in Vanessa's heart for four years.
She stood frozen on the spot, her violet eyes losing focus. Holland's words—heretical, yet seemingly tinged with a cruel realism—echoed and clashed within her mind.
"Miss Vanessa..."
"I—I'm here!"
The clear, steady call yanked her wandering thoughts back to the present.
What met her gaze was a pair of black eyes, as deep as an eternal night, yet devoid of any coldness.
Only now, in that moment of subconscious, direct eye contact, did Vanessa truly "see" the face of the man before her.
It was not a rugged or sharp-edged handsomeness, but a quiet, harmonious beauty, with profound contours that seemed to have been naturally polished by the passage of time.
His skin was pale but not frail, his nose was straight, his jawline well-defined but not overly harsh...
