Julian felt his jaw tighten. A group of local girls stood nearby with Evelyn, their faces wrapped in thin scarves to shield them from the sun and the biting wheat dust.

Evelyn’s eyes still held the lingering warmth of a laugh shared with her friends, but the second she turned to Seraphina, the light vanished, replaced by a wall of ice.

"Why are you asking me?" Evelyn snapped. "I’m not your mother."

Seraphina’s face drained of color. Her eyes welled up instantly, those practiced tears trembling on the verge of a fall.

"Evelyn, enough!" Julian’s voice dropped into a protective growl. "Can’t you speak without being so malicious? You weren't always like this."

"I warned you both," Evelyn said, her voice cutting through the humid morning air. "Do not let my name cross your lips. It makes me sick. If you insist on nauseating me, don't expect a smile in return."

Julian was stunned into a momentary silence. He opened his mouth to argue, but Evelyn cut him off with a sharp gesture. "It’s harvest time. I don’t have the breath to waste on you. Shut up and get to work."

Tess and the other village girls burst into a fit of giggles. Julian’s face burned. He was a man of status—how could Evelyn humiliate him like this in front of a crowd?

Seraphina bit her lip, forced to change her approach. She adopted her most fragile tone. "Evelyn... what is that cloth you're wearing?"

Evelyn answered the question and the follow-up before Seraphina could even ask. "It’s a kerchief. I only have one. No, you can’t have it."

The words Seraphina had been preparing died in her throat. Her face shifted between a humiliated red and a sickly white.

Julian felt a pang of pity. Seraphina had never set foot in a field, and now, with the grueling harvest beginning, everyone had protection for their skin except her. "Evelyn..." he started again.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and turned to Tess. "I have a bad feeling."

"What's that?" Tess asked, playing along.

"I think some shameless creature is about to beg me for my kerchief."

The "shameless" Julian froze, the words sticking in his throat.

Tess shot Julian a look of mock surprise. "Surely not? We only have one each. If we gave them away, what would we use? Some people really have no shame."

Julian’s face went from red to purple. He had only intended to ask if they had a spare, but now the words felt like lead.

Barrett finished organizing the teams. Usually, the "city youths" were integrated with the seasoned villagers to balance the workload. But the wheat harvest was a race against time; the villagers knew the city kids would only drag down their collective pace. Consequently, the city group was left to struggle on their own.

Evelyn was relegated back to her original circle. Caleb watched her approach with a sneer. "I thought you’d abandoned us for the peasants. Looks like they kicked you back where you belong."

Evelyn didn't even blink; she treated his voice like white noise.

"Caleb, stop," Seraphina said softly. "Evelyn is one of us. Where else would she go?"

Caleb let out a cold snort. "I’m just worried she’s forgotten herself, hanging around those country bumpkins. As if they’d actually let her get away with doing less work."

Mark, the group leader, was equally cold. When the assignments were handed out, he placed Seraphina, Evelyn, Hazel, and Mabel together in one sub-team.

"Begin!" Barrett’s voice boomed through the megaphone.

The disparity in skill became apparent within minutes. In the villagers' section, the men swung their sickles in a rhythmic, golden blur, felling the wheat in great, clean sweeps. The women followed in a synchronized dance, binding the sheaves with effortless speed.

On the city side, it was a disaster. While the veterans had some rhythm, the newcomers were drowning. Julian and Caleb had assumed this would be like weeding—exhausting, yes, but simple to learn. Reality struck them like a physical blow.

They could swing a sickle, but they couldn't maintain the pace. Their cuts were jagged and uneven; they left behind tufts of unharvested wheat that forced them to backtrack, wasting precious time and energy.

Evelyn, meanwhile, was working alongside Hazel. With the muscle memory of her past life and a body now hardened by months of chores, she took to the binding with startling efficiency. Before long, she was moving as fast as Hazel herself.

Hazel watched Evelyn out of the corner of her eye, her expression shifting from surprise to a begrudging respect. Was she born for this? she wondered. Then she glanced back at Seraphina, who was lagging miles behind.

Seraphina was screaming internally. She cursed the sun, the dirt, and most of all, Evelyn. If Evelyn hadn't been so stubborn, if she had just married Julian like a good little fool, I wouldn't be out here in the filth, she thought.

Mabel had tried to teach Seraphina the technique a dozen times, but the sheaves Seraphina produced were loose, messy tangles that fell apart the moment they were moved. "Seraphina, please!" Mabel cried, her patience snapping. "You’re holding up the whole line!"

Seraphina was exhausted and furious. She watched Evelyn’s nimble movements with a dark, simmering envy. Slut. You were born to be a peasant, she hissed under her breath.

Because Evelyn and Hazel were so fast, they were constantly bumping into the heels of the men—Julian, Dominic, and Caleb. They had to stop every few minutes, waiting for the men to clear enough wheat to give them room to bind.

Hazel appreciated the breaks, and she didn't mind the shame of being slow as long as Seraphina and Mabel were there to take the brunt of the blame.

Evelyn, however, had no intention of being quiet.

"Barrett!" Evelyn suddenly hollered, her voice carrying across the entire field. "Julian’s team is slacking! Their lack of work ethic is killing our morale and stalling our progress!"

The entire field went silent. Heads popped up from the golden stalks as everyone turned to look. In the middle of the vast acreage, Julian’s team stood out like a sore thumb—lagging so far behind they were being outpaced by the elderly and the children. It was a pathetic sight.

A wave of derision crashed over Julian. The villagers’ eyes were filled with contempt, amusement, and blatant disdain.

Julian, the son of a powerful factory director, had been raised on a diet of praise and deference. Even here, he had maintained an aura of superiority, the "golden boy" who was destined for better things. He had never felt a shame like this—a visceral, suffocating embarrassment that made him want to vanish into the earth.

Dominic, Caleb, and Mark were also part of the group, but they ducked their heads, playing the part of the silent bystander. They let Julian take the full force of the blow. The brothers even felt a twisted sense of relief—at least their sister hadn't called them out by name.

Julian looked back at Evelyn. Her face was hidden behind the kerchief, but her eyes—dark, calm, and dripping with irony—met his. A dull, heavy ache throbbed in his chest.

She knew how much he valued his dignity. She knew he was a novice. She knew he was trying. And yet, she had deliberately held him up to the light for everyone to mock.