Luca

I was ten years old when I first saw him.

His hair was unkempt, his clothes worn and tattered, and he looked completely out of place against the pristine beauty of Sterling Manor.

From my bedroom window, I watched as a boy — no older than thirteen — climbed out of a battered, rust-covered car that looked as though it belonged in a scrapyard rather than on our perfectly maintained estate grounds.

The contrast was impossible to ignore.

Everything about Sterling Manor was polished. Perfect. Untouched by the imperfections of the outside world.

Yet there he stood.

A stranger.

The boy limped towards Mr. Hart, our estate groundskeeper, who greeted him with a hesitant but affectionate embrace. I watched curiously as Mr. Hart held onto him for a moment longer than expected, as though reassuring himself the boy was truly there.

My fascination only grew when the boy turned and looked towards the manor.

Towards my home.

And then I saw him.

The moment his eyes lifted towards my window, my breath caught in my throat.

My pencil slipped from my fingers and rolled across the floor, completely forgotten.

“Olive?”

Miss Graham’s voice shattered my thoughts. I turned quickly, startled by her sudden appearance.

She stood in the doorway, her usual calm expression softening as she looked at me.

“You’ve missed breakfast,” she said gently. “Shall I bring it up for you?”

I shook my head, barely sparing her a glance before looking back towards the window.

But the boy was gone.

Both he and Mr. Hart had disappeared into the small cabin beyond the estate grounds — the same cabin Mr. Hart had lived in for as long as I could remember.

“I saw a boy,” I said quietly, bending down to retrieve my drawing pad and pencil.

“A boy?” Miss Graham repeated, a small smile tugging at her lips as she followed my gaze.

Then her expression changed slightly.

“Ah… Arthur’s grandson.”

I looked back at her.

“Poor lad has faced quite a bit, Olive.”

“What happened to his… face?”

My question came out before I could stop it.

Miss Graham met my gaze, her gentle grey eyes filled with sadness.

“We mustn’t pry, Olive, dear,” she whispered.

But somehow, that only made me want to know more.

The following morning, I gathered enough courage to join my family for breakfast.

I wore my finest dress — the one decorated with purple frills — and as I entered the grand dining room, my brother Alexander immediately looked up and scoffed.

“Olive,” he muttered.

I ignored him and made my way towards my mother, who immediately smiled.

“Olive, darling.”

“Good morning, Mum. Good morning, Dad.”

I smiled at my father, who sat at the end of the table, absorbed in his book while sipping his tea.

His eyes lowered to my dress, and his brows furrowed.

“What is the meaning of this, Olive?”

Before I could answer, my mother laughed softly.

“Let her be, Teddy. She’s a growing girl and wants to look nice. Don’t you, darling?”

I nodded, though my cheeks warmed as I stared down at my empty plate.

I never liked disappointing my father.

After breakfast, I wandered through the gardens as I often did.

But this time, my feet carried me somewhere else.

Somewhere I had never ventured before.

The groundskeeper’s cabin.

I stopped suddenly when I saw him.

The boy sat on the front porch, his gaze distant.

A cold breeze swept through the gardens, and a shiver ran down my spine as he suddenly looked up, as though he had sensed my presence.

A gasp escaped me.

Up close, I could see the evidence of what he had endured.

Bruises covered his skin, a fresh cut marked his lower lip, and the right side of his face carried rough, damaged skin that told a story I didn’t understand.

I knew I was staring.

I knew it was rude.

But I couldn’t stop.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression hardening as he noticed my curiosity.

Then, without a word, he stood and disappeared inside the cabin.

Only when the door closed behind him did I realise I had been holding my breath.

A moment later, the door opened again.

This time, it was Mr. Hart who stepped outside.

His familiar smile immediately eased my nerves.

“Little Miss, is that you?”

I smiled softly.

“Yes, Mr. Hart.”

“Everything alright? You never venture this far out.”

I glanced towards the cabin before looking back at him.

“Yes, Mr. Hart. I was just looking for… something to draw.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out my pad and pencil, holding them up as proof.

Mr. Hart smiled knowingly.

“Alright, Little Miss. Just be careful not to wander too far.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

I watched as he disappeared back inside the cabin.

For a moment, I stood completely still.

Why had I come here?

The answer was obvious.

Curiosity.

But there was something else.

Something about that boy had drawn me in.

Who was he?

And why did I feel as though he was hiding a sadness far greater than I could understand?

I looked towards the cabin windows, searching for any sign of him.

There was nothing.

Yet I couldn’t shake the strange feeling that unseen eyes were still watching me.

Reluctantly, I turned away and began walking back towards the manor.

__________

Sterling Manor was the definition of aristocratic elegance.

It stood proudly among acres of perfectly maintained gardens, a symbol of my family’s old money heritage and the generations that had come before me. Every stone, every room, every piece of furniture held a story.

From the outside, it was everything a person could ever dream of.

But as I grew older, I began to realise that beautiful things could still feel like cages.

The walls that once made me feel safe slowly began to feel as though they were closing in around me.

I continued returning to the riverbank that surrounded the estate, sitting beneath the old wooden bridge with my drawing pad in my lap.

Yet no matter how many times I visited the cabin, I never saw him again.

Not once.

At first, I told myself it was simply curiosity that brought me there.

But as the days turned into weeks, I knew that wasn’t entirely true.

I wanted to see him.

I wanted to understand him.

There was something about the boy with the haunted green eyes that stayed with me long after he had disappeared.

I knew it was wrong to stare.

I knew nothing about him.

But I couldn’t forget the sadness that seemed to surround him, or the way he looked at the world as though it had already taken too much from him.

Those eyes followed me everywhere.

In a family where everyone carried the same warm shade of honey brown, his emerald gaze was something entirely different.

Rare.

Unforgettable.

And somehow, impossible to ignore.

Weeks turned into months, and my life continued within the walls of Sterling Manor.

My brother and I were homeschooled by some of the finest tutors money could provide. We received an education most people could only dream of, yet despite all the knowledge placed before me, I still felt strangely unprepared for the world beyond our gates.

Books had taught me about life.

But Luca had shown me a glimpse of it.

A version that couldn’t be found written on any page.

When Alexander was finally granted permission to attend school a year later, I found myself consumed by jealousy.

Why could he leave?

Why was I still expected to remain here?

My mother tried to reassure me.

“Alex will one day take after your father,” she explained gently. “This is simply how things have always been done.”

The promise of university and the future that awaited him seemed to provide some comfort, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling growing inside me.

The feeling that I was trapped.

I had everything anyone could want.

A beautiful home.

A loving family.

A life of privilege.

Yet somehow, I longed for something I couldn’t name.

Freedom.

On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I descended the grand staircase to find Sterling Manor transformed.

An enormous cake sat proudly in the centre of the dining table, surrounded by extravagant decorations, balloons, and gifts wrapped in delicate pink paper.

It was everything a girl could dream of.

And yet, I barely noticed any of it.

Because through the open doorway of the tea room, I saw him.

Luca.

He stood beside his grandfather, helping repair an old shelving unit.

His back was turned towards me, but I noticed immediately how different he looked.

He was no longer the small, fragile boy I remembered.

He had grown.

His shoulders were broader, his frame stronger, and every movement showed the quiet strength he had gained over the years.

The hammer moved steadily in his hand as he secured the wood, completely unaware that I was watching.

Until suddenly…

He turned.

It was as though he had felt my gaze.

The air disappeared from my lungs.

Those eyes.

Those unforgettable emerald eyes.

The bruises and cuts that had once covered his face were gone, replaced only by the damaged skin along the right side of his face — a permanent reminder of the burns he had suffered.

I understood now.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But before I could stop myself, before I could look away, I realised I had been staring for far too long.

Luca noticed.

His expression hardened.

His eyes narrowed slightly before he turned away, dismissing me completely.

But this time…

I refused to let him disappear.

Not again.

Ignoring my mother’s disapproving look, I stepped into the tea room.

“Little Miss!”

Mr. Hart’s face immediately brightened.

“Happy birthday!”

A smile touched my lips.

“Thank you, Mr. Hart.”

But my smile faded slightly when I noticed Luca still hadn’t looked at me.

He continued working, completely focused on the task in front of him.

Mr. Hart followed my gaze and cleared his throat.

The sound caught Luca’s attention.

A silent conversation passed between them.

Luca rolled his eyes slightly before setting the hammer down and standing.

And suddenly, I realised just how tall he had become.

He towered over me.

“Olive,” Mr. Hart said warmly, “this is my grandson, Luca.”

He paused, his expression softening.

“He would like to wish you a happy birthday, but please don’t mind him…”

His voice lowered.

“He cannot speak.”

For the first time, Luca looked directly at me.

Not with anger.

Not exactly.

But with caution.

Like he was searching my face for disgust.

For pity.

For judgement.

I smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Luca.”

I held out my hand.

For a moment, he simply stared at it.

Then he looked towards his grandfather before looking back at me.

“She won’t bite,” Mr. Hart chuckled.

Slowly, reluctantly, Luca reached out.

Our hands touched.

And for a brief moment, my attention wasn’t drawn to the scars on his face.

It was drawn to him.

To the roughness of his hands.

The strength behind them.

The life he had lived.

The moment I realised I was staring again, Luca quickly pulled away.

The sudden movement snapped me back to reality.

I wanted to apologise.

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t looking at him with disgust.

But before I could find the words, he had already turned away.

Returning to his work.

“You have a good day now, Little Miss,” Mr. Hart said kindly. “Looks like your parents have spoiled you rotten.”

I smiled softly before leaving them behind.

But even surrounded by birthday celebrations…

My thoughts remained with Luca.

__________

Later that evening, after the excitement of my birthday had faded, I found myself sitting in the expansive kitchen with Miss Graham.

The grand celebration my parents had arranged had been everything anyone could have wished for.

The decorations.

The presents.

The enormous cake.

But none of those things held my attention.

Instead, I sat happily eating a slice of the smaller cake Miss Graham had made especially for me.

“Do you like it?” she asked, watching me carefully.

I nodded eagerly, taking another spoonful.

“It’s perfect.”

It wasn’t the extravagant cake my mother had ordered.

It wasn’t covered in decorations or created to impress guests.

It was a simple Victoria sponge, baked with care, served warm with a little hot custard — my favourite.

Because Miss Graham knew me.

She always had.

My eyes drifted towards the tea room doorway.

Empty.

Mr. Hart and Luca had left hours ago.

A small disappointment settled in my chest, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“What’s on your mind, puppet?”

Miss Graham’s gentle voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I looked down at my plate.

For a moment, I considered pretending I didn’t know what she meant.

But Miss Graham had always been able to see through me.

Summoning the courage, I whispered:

“Luca.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t look surprised.

“You want to know what happened to him?”

I nodded.

Then quickly looked away.

I knew it wasn’t my place to ask.

I knew his story belonged to him.

But there was something about Luca that made it impossible for me to simply walk away.

He carried a sadness I couldn’t understand.

A sadness I wanted to ease.

“Alright, Olive,” Miss Graham said softly. “I will tell you.”

She leaned closer.

“But this stays between us. Do you understand?”

“I promise.”

The desperation in my voice made her expression soften.

She sighed quietly.

“Well, it isn’t the kind of story you find in fairy tales, Olive.”

Her eyes lowered.

“In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

I listened carefully.

“Arthur’s son — Luca’s father — died shortly after Luca was born.”

She paused.

“Cancer.”

A sadness crossed her face.

“His mother remarried afterwards. A man who was cruel, Olive. A man who was nothing short of a monster.”

My heart tightened.

“She left Luca with him.”

Miss Graham’s voice trembled.

“She abandoned him.”

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Arthur didn’t even know he had a grandson,” she continued. “Not until one day he received a phone call telling him Luca needed him.”

She swallowed.

“When Arthur found him… he was heartbroken.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“But then he looked into that little boy’s eyes and saw his own son staring back at him.”

She wiped beneath her eye with her napkin.

“Your father has been kind enough to arrange a tutor for Luca, so he can receive an education. But Luca doesn’t want that.”

“Why?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

Miss Graham looked towards the window.

“Because he believes he has nothing else to offer.”

Her words saddened me.

“He prefers helping Arthur. Working on the estate. Keeping busy.”

She paused.

“And he hasn’t spoken a single word since the incident.”

My heart sank.

“The incident that caused his burns?”

Miss Graham nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

She looked away, unable to hide her pain.

“He has carried more than any child ever should.”

Silence filled the room.

I stared down at my cake, but suddenly I had lost my appetite.

All this time, I had lived inside Sterling Manor believing the world was simple.

Good things happened.

Bad things existed only in books.

But Luca had changed that.

He was proof that pain existed beyond the walls that protected me.

No amount of stories.

No amount of lessons.

No amount of carefully chosen books could have prepared me for the reality of another person’s suffering.

My heart felt unbearably heavy.

A lump formed in my throat.

That night, I lay awake in my bed.

The grand birthday celebration my parents had arranged was nothing more than a distant memory.

The gifts.

The decorations.

The cake.

None of it mattered.

All I could think about was him.

The boy who had appeared beyond my window years ago.

The boy with the damaged skin and guarded heart.

The boy who carried his pain silently.

Luca.

And those haunting emerald eyes.

Eyes that had seen things I could never imagine.

Eyes that somehow made me want to know his story.

And for the first time in my life…

I realised that Sterling Manor had been protecting me from far more than the outside world.

It had been protecting me from the truth of it.