Grief quietly gnawed at him, the knowledge that his former fiancée now belonged to another sinking deeper into his soul. His revenge—a dark, burning need—continued to consume him, as he wondered when the men who betrayed him would finally face the consequences of their actions.

The ballroom of Fernand de Morcerf’s estate buzzed with laughter and conversation, but he felt out of place, his every step a reminder of the distance between himself and the world around him. No corner felt like it could hide his discomfort. As his eyes scanned the room, they met hers from across the way—a gaze not of curiosity, but of longing, deep and aching, as though she, too, knew what was left unsaid between them. It was a look he knew well, a silent confession of emotions neither of them had voiced.

He turned, making his way toward the next room, but she moved to intercept him, drawn as if by invisible threads. The small hallway between the rooms became their only world, the two of them standing there, alone. Her eyes, shining with a reflection of the chandelier’s light, held a longing so palpable it seemed to fill the space. He waited for her to speak, to break the silence.

In this moment, away from the crowd, his face softened—stripped of the coldness he wore in public. In the quiet of their shared space, everything was different. Her wedding ring, still resting on her finger, was a reminder of the life she had chosen, but fate, it seemed, had other plans. He was not Edmond, but in that instant, she wished he were.