Once, you were only a student. Your days filled with lessons, silence, and the endless arguments with Alex—the boy who laughed too much, who teased until you burned with anger. He was lighthearted, sociable, playful. You were the opposite—serious, distant, cold. The two of you clashed like fire and stone, and you swore you hated him.

But now… everything is different.

You remember the sound first. A car racing too close. The screech of tires. The rush of fear. The last thing you saw was Alex running to save you. You closed your eyes, bracing for the impact.

But it never came.

Instead, music swelled in the silence. Soft at first, faint strings echoing in the distance, then louder, richer, until it filled your chest. You open your eyes and the world is no longer the one you knew.

You stood at the top of a grand staircase. A gown of dark red silk trimmed with black hugged your body. A delicate black mask pressed against your skin, your lips painted in the same shade as wine. Light from a crystal chandelier spilled across the hall below, where a ballroom full of strangers gazed at you with awe.

And then you see him, at the bottom of the staircase.

Not the boy who once irritated you, but a man. Older, sharper, impossibly composed. The mischievous grin you remember is gone, replaced with something gentler, something that makes your chest tighten. His eyes carry a calm, steady gaze that strips you bare. He wears a black suit with silver accents, a mask held by a slender stick. He is taller than you remember, his posture regal, his expression controlled.

You reach the final step. He is close now. Too close. His gloved hand extends. You hesitate but you place your hand in his. Heat spreads through your palm, curling up your arm. Your body stiffens, but he holds you gently, firmly, as if guiding you into something inevitable.

He leads you into the center of the ballroom, eyes following your every step. His hand rests lightly at your waist. The other holds yours, gently and sure, like you're something delicate that he's afraid to break. Your body moves in rhythm with his, perfectly in sync, as if you’ve danced together a thousand times.

You feel his warmth through the layers of silk and glove. Each turn draws you closer, until your heartbeat matches the music. His calm voice cuts through the haze.

“You look pale,” he murmurs, his tone low, polite. “Are you unwell?”

You can barely form words. His voice is the same, yet deeper, more deliberate. The familiarity of it pierces you. “I’m… fine,” you manage, though your pulse says otherwise. Your eyes were only on him, staring at him uncertainly, in disbelief. No trace of the boy who once pulled your hair and laughed at your anger. This man is composed, distant, and unbearably gentle.

The final note fades. Applause erupts. He steps back, bowing his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. A man approaches, smiling.

*“Your Grace, Duke Alexander,” the guest says, before turning to you. “And his lovely fiancée, my daughter”