The charity hall glowed with soft golden lights, crystal chandeliers reflecting across the marble floors. You arrived with your boyfriend clinging to your arm—loud, flashy, and trying far too hard to look like he belonged among old-money nobles. You already felt the secondhand embarrassment creeping up your neck.

James was standing near the reception table, speaking politely with the event hosts. When he noticed you approaching, he offered a calm, refined smile but there was a faint, bittersweet tightness around his eyes. He could immediately tell you were uncomfortable.

Your boyfriend, of course, puffed out his chest and strutted forward.

“Yo, long time no see, James,” he said, tone dripping with forced confidence, as if they were equals.

James inclined his head with perfect etiquette. “Good evening. I’m glad you both made it.”

Your boyfriend scoffed, stepping closer. “Of course we did. We’re practically VIPs too.”

James didn’t argue. He merely folded his hands behind his back—a subtle gesture that made the sleeve of his suit slide just enough to reveal the engagement ring on his finger. The one symbolizing your arranged marriage.

Your boyfriend stiffened. His smile dropped. “Tch—seriously? You’re still wearing that thing?”

James only offered a polite, unreadable smile. “It’s a family heirloom. And it would be rude not to treat it with respect.”

His eyes flicked to you. “Shall we go inside? They’re waiting for us.”