As the evening continued, the energy in the ballroom settled just enough for the musicians to return to something more traditional. The lively folk rhythms faded into the opening notes of the Ländler, a dance as old as the mountains themselves.

Maria had been laughing with the children, still helping Kurt through his steps, when the shift in music made her pause. She looked up, her gaze meeting Georg's across the room.

The Captain, ever composed, seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then, as if drawn by something unseen, he stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Fraulein Maria," he said, his voice smooth but holding a note of something deeper, something unspoken.

Maria felt the weight of his gaze, the room narrowing to just the two of them. The air between them was thick with something she didn't quite understand—something both exhilarating and terrifying.

She placed her hand in his.

The children, sensing something special, fell silent. Even Uncle Max, ever the observer, raised an intrigued brow as he leaned against the refreshment table.

Slowly, deliberately, Georg led Maria into the first steps of the Ländler. They moved with careful precision, the dance's familiar patterns guiding them at first.

But then—something changed.

As Georg stepped closer, his hand found Maria's waist, drawing her into the traditional turn. The touch sent a jolt through her, and she swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they were. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither moved.

The music swelled.

Maria was no longer thinking about the steps. She was no longer thinking at all. Her pulse quickened as Georg's grip tightened just slightly, his touch both firm and careful, as though he, too, was startled by what was happening between them.

The dance brought them closer—too close.

Maria inhaled sharply as Georg twirled her effortlessly beneath his arm, the movement fluid, natural, as if they had danced together a hundred times before. When she came back to him, his hand found hers again, their fingers barely laced but connected nonetheless.

His eyes—deep, unwavering—held something she had never seen before. A softness. A longing.

Maria's breath hitched.

Georg, too, seemed to realize the moment was slipping into something else, something neither of them could name but both could feel. His expression flickered, caught between restraint and something dangerously near surrender.

Then—just as suddenly—the music ended.

The spell was broken.

Maria pulled back, blinking rapidly. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart hammering in her chest. Georg released her hand slowly, as if reluctant to let go.

For a moment, silence filled the ballroom. Then, as if the world had been holding its breath, the room stirred to life again. The children whispered excitedly, Max took a knowing sip of his wine, and the guests resumed their murmured conversations.

But Maria and Georg remained frozen.

She looked up at him, searching for words, but found none.

Georg, ever the composed naval captain, inclined his head slightly and murmured, "Fraulein."

Then, he turned and walked away, leaving Maria standing in the center of the dance floor, utterly breathless and shaken to her very core. As Maria stood near the edge of the ballroom, still feeling the warmth of Georg's hand on hers, she barely noticed the Baroness approaching until the woman's voice, smooth as silk, drifted over her shoulder.

"My dear Fraulein Maria," the Baroness said, her lips curving into a practiced smile. "You dance quite beautifully."

Maria startled slightly, quickly lowering her hands to smooth out the front of her dress. "Oh, I—I don't know about that. I haven't danced in years."

The Baroness tilted her head, her gaze keen. "Well, you certainly looked… comfortable. Quite at home, I'd say."

Maria's stomach twisted, and she swallowed. "It's only a dance."

"Of course," the Baroness agreed lightly, stepping closer. "But you must admit, not just anyone could match Georg so well. He's not an easy man to keep up with."

Maria glanced away, willing herself to remain calm. "He's very graceful," she admitted carefully.

The Baroness let out a soft, knowing laugh. "Yes. And he can be… rather charming when he wishes to be." She paused, watching Maria closely before continuing, "You've done wonders with the children, truly. They adore you."

Maria's heart swelled at the mention of them. "I love them very much," she said earnestly.

"I can see that," the Baroness replied, then added with delicate precision, "And yet, one must always remember one's place."

Maria stiffened. "My place?"

The Baroness feigned innocence, tilting her head. "You belong somewhere far more… spiritual, do you not? I remember the night we met—you spoke with such devotion about your calling, about your love for the abbey."

Maria felt something in her chest tighten. "Yes, I… I do love the abbey."

The Baroness let out a thoughtful sigh, casting a glance toward the Captain, who was engaged in conversation across the room. "I imagine it must be difficult, though. To be here, in the midst of so much… temptation."

Maria's breath caught. "Temptation?"

The Baroness gave a soft, almost pitying smile. "Oh, my dear, I mean no offense. But love is a powerful thing, isn't it? It can so easily pull us away from our true path. And yours is with God, is it not?"

Maria opened her mouth but found she had no words. The Baroness's voice was gentle, even kind, but there was an undeniable weight behind it—a careful, deliberate push.

"Imagine how proud the Reverend Mother must be of you," the Baroness continued, stepping closer. "How she must be waiting for you to return to where you truly belong."

Maria swallowed hard. She had been so caught up in the children, in the household, in the Captain… that she had not truly let herself think about it.

Her true place.

Her devotion.

Had she betrayed it?

The Baroness reached out, giving Maria's hand a light squeeze. "You have such a kind heart, my dear. I only hope you don't let these… distractions lead you away from what you truly desire."

Maria felt her throat tighten. She nodded, barely whispering, "Thank you, Baroness."

With a pleased smile, the Baroness patted her hand once more before turning gracefully and walking away, leaving Maria standing alone, shaken, and suddenly very uncertain of the evening swirled on in a grand spectacle of glittering gowns and polished boots, the orchestra began a new melody—one that resonated through the ballroom with a wistful familiarity.

Edelweiss.

The tune drifted like a soft mountain breeze, gentle yet aching, wrapping itself around Maria's heart with unbearable sweetness. She stood near the periphery of the room, hands clasped tightly as if holding herself together. The Baroness's words still echoed in her mind, coiling around her conscience like ivy, tightening their grip with every passing second.

She felt dizzy, overwhelmed. She had danced with the Captain. She had felt something stir within her that had no place in the heart of a woman devoted to God. She had seen the way he had looked at her, the way his touch had lingered just a moment too long.

And she had felt how much she had wanted it to.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. This was wrong. It was all wrong.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Maria turned sharply on her heel, her skirts whispering against the polished marble as she fled toward the grand doors.

Liesel saw her the moment she moved.

At first, she thought Maria was simply stepping away for a moment of air. But as she followed her with her eyes, a sinking dread curled in her chest. Maria wasn't just leaving the ballroom. She was leaving.

"No…" Liesel whispered.

Her feet moved before she could think, weaving between guests in a desperate attempt to catch up. "Maria?" she called, her voice too soft, lost in the music and the hum of conversation.

But Maria did not stop.

The grand doors loomed ahead, and in one swift movement, she slipped through them into the cool night air.

Liesel reached the threshold just in time to see the tail of Maria's dress disappear beyond the gates of the estate. The night swallowed her whole, her silhouette vanishing into the darkness toward the abbey.

A painful lump formed in Liesel's throat. Why would she leave? Why now, when everything was finally beginning to feel… right?

The warm, lilting waltz of Edelweiss continued behind her, but Liesel's heart felt cold. She wanted to chase after Maria, to demand answers, to ask why—but she knew deep down that Maria had already made her choice.

Liesel clenched her fists, trying to blink away the burning in her eyes.

And in that moment, for the first time in her young life, she understood what it felt like to have something beautiful slip away before you could hold onto it.

Liesel stood frozen at the grand entrance of the estate, the echoes of Edelweiss swirling behind her, her heart pounding in her chest as Maria's figure disappeared into the night. A lump formed in her throat, her hands clenched at her sides. She didn't understand. How could Maria leave like this? How could she just go?

A voice, smooth and practiced, cut through the haze of her heartbreak.

"Liesel."

Rolfe.

She turned, her eyes glistening, her emotions raw and exposed. Rolfe stood there, his neatly pressed uniform crisp, his blond hair perfectly in place, his blue eyes watching her with calculated concern. He reached for her, his touch light on her arm, his voice hushed but insistent.

"You shouldn't cry," he murmured, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek before she could pull away. "Not over her."

Liesel sniffled, looking down, trying to regain control of herself, but the weight of everything was too much. The ball, Maria leaving, the confusion swirling in her chest—it was all crashing down at once. She felt so lost, so abandoned, and Rolfe was there. He was warm, he was present, and he was saying all the right things.

"I don't understand," she whispered. "I thought she—"

Rolfe shushed her softly, pulling her into an embrace before she could finish the thought. He smelled of expensive cologne and freshly pressed fabric, but there was something suffocating about it, something that felt more like a trap than comfort.

"She's a coward, Liesel," he said smoothly, his voice just low enough to be intimate, just sharp enough to plant the seed of doubt. "She ran because she couldn't handle real life. People like that… they always leave."

Liesel stiffened. That wasn't true. Maria wasn't a coward. She couldn't be.

But Rolfe felt her hesitation and knew exactly how to work around it.

"She abandoned you." He leaned back just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands firm on her arms. "I would never do that."

And before she could think, before she could breathe, his lips were on hers.

It was nothing like she had imagined a kiss would be. There was no warmth, no spark, no feeling of being cherished. It was too quick, too sudden—possessive rather than tender. It didn't feel like the stolen, shy magic of first love. It felt like control.

Liesel gasped against it, her hands pressing against his chest in alarm. But he was already pulling away, his eyes flickering with triumph for just a moment before softening into something almost… tender. A well-rehearsed act.

"You see?" he murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't need her. You don't need any of them."

Liesel stood there, stunned, her mind reeling. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

And then—

"Liesel?"

Johnny's voice.

Liesel whirled around just as Johnny stepped into the doorway.

His face, which had been bright and teasing all night, was suddenly unreadable. The light from the ballroom cast a warm glow over his sun-kissed features, but his hazel eyes—normally filled with mischief and light—were dark with something else. Something Liesel had never seen in him before.

Rolfe straightened, a satisfied smirk barely concealed as he slid his hands casually into his pockets. "Well, look who it is," he said smoothly, his voice like silk over steel. "The cowboy."

Johnny didn't answer right away. His eyes flickered from Rolfe to Liesel, and she could see it then—see the way something inside him had cracked.

"Liesel," Johnny said, his voice quiet, steady. Not accusing. Not angry. But there was hurt there. A deep, aching hurt.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

And that silence—her silence—was enough.

Johnny exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I see how it is." His voice was still calm, but there was a finality to it. A resignation.

Liesel took a step forward, panic rising in her chest. "Johnny, I—"

But he was already stepping back.

"Take care, Starling," he murmured, the nickname now bittersweet, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Liesel felt the air rush out of her lungs. "Johnny—!"

She moved to follow him, but Rolfe's hand caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm.

"Let him go, Liesel," he murmured. "He doesn't belong here. We do."

Liesel turned back to look at Rolfe, but suddenly, all she could see was the wrongness of it all. The calculated gleam in his eye. The way he had been waiting for this moment. The way he had taken advantage of her grief and confusion.

Her stomach twisted.

What had she just done?

The rest of the night passed in a blur, though to Liesel, it felt like the air in the villa had turned suffocating. The lively waltzes continued, and polite conversation resumed, but there was an unspoken tension hanging over the ballroom—an unease that only a few were fully aware the entrance, Captain Georg von Trapp stood tall, his piercing gaze fixed on the unfolding scene just beyond the terrace doors. His expression, usually cool and controlled, darkened as he took in every detail.

His daughter, Liesel, looking shaken, confused, and far too young for the weight on her shoulders.

Johnny, standing just beyond the glow of the lanterns, his broad frame tense, his jaw clenched. The young man had the look of someone who had been dealt a blow but refused to flinch.

And Rolfe—that snake—standing far too close to Liesel, his hand still possessively resting on her wrist, a smug gleam of victory barely hidden behind his polished exterior.

Georg's stomach turned. He had tolerated the boy before, but this—this was beyond forgivable.

Slowly, deliberately, the Captain stepped forward.

The clicking of his polished boots against the stone terrace was enough to silence the murmurs of the surrounding guests. The night air carried a chill, but it was nothing compared to the cold fury in Georg's eyes as he approached the trio.

Rolfe straightened, his smirk faltering slightly as he met the Captain's gaze. He adjusted his uniform, schooling his expression into one of practiced composure. "Captain von Trapp," he greeted smoothly, inclining his head as if he had done nothing wrong.

Georg didn't hesitate.

With the force of a storm breaking over the mountains, his hand lashed out—CRACK.

Rolfe staggered back, eyes wide in shock, a red imprint already blooming across his cheek. The guests who had wandered outside gasped, whispers breaking out amongst them.

Liesel sucked in a breath. "Papa—"

"Silence." Georg's voice was quiet, but it cut like steel. His gaze never left Rolfe. "I have tolerated your presence long enough."

Rolfe's hand hovered over his stinging cheek, but he quickly recovered, straightening his spine. "With all due respect, sir," he said, feigning composure, "I don't believe this reaction is necessary—"

"Necessary?" Georg's voice was dangerously low, his rage controlled but no less terrifying. He took a step forward, forcing Rolfe to take one back. "You—a uniformed messenger boy—think you can manipulate my daughter under my own roof?" His tone dropped even further. "You think I didn't see you take advantage of her vulnerability? You disgust me."

Rolfe stiffened, but before he could speak, Georg cut him off.

"You will never set foot on this property again," he commanded, voice ringing with finality. "You will never speak to my daughter. And if I so much as hear of you lurking near my family—" He leaned in, lowering his voice so that only Rolfe could hear. "I will personally see to it that you regret it."

Rolfe swallowed hard.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, an officer from inside cleared his throat, stepping forward awkwardly. "Captain von Trapp," he began carefully, "we wouldn't want to cause a… scene."

Georg turned to him with a look that could have frozen the Danube. "Then take your fellow officer and leave."

The officer hesitated, clearly not wanting to make an enemy of the Captain. But Georg's reputation was not one to challenge.

With a tight nod, the officer turned to Rolfe. "Come," he ordered sharply.

Rolfe hesitated for only a second longer before falling in step beside him, but not before casting one last look at Liesel. His blue eyes flickered with something between disappointment and calculation, as if this wasn't over.

Liesel didn't meet his gaze.

She was staring at Johnny.

But Johnny wasn't looking at her anymore.

His hat was already pulled low over his eyes, and without another word, he turned and walked off into the night.

Liesel felt her chest tighten.

Regret tasted bitter on her tongue.

Georg exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face as he watched Rolfe disappear beyond the gates. He turned back to Liesel, softening just enough to see the conflict warring in her eyes.

"My darling girl," he said, more gently now, reaching for her hand. "Don't let a boy like that make you forget who you are."

Liesel swallowed hard and nodded, though inside, she didn't feel like the same girl she had been before tonight.

The night carried on, but for those who had witnessed what had happened, it was clear:

Something had changed.