Helios looked up at you.

He was kneeling on the polished floor, one knee pressed down as if it had been trained to remember that exact spot. His posture was flawless. Too flawless. In his hands sat a velvet box, already open, already prepared, as though there had never been a world where it stayed closed.

The diamond inside caught the light and fractured it. Sharp. Clean. Perfect.

Nearly three years together. Long enough for routines to form, for trust to settle deep and unquestioned. Long enough for him to know how you took your coffee, how you slept, how you hesitated before answering important questions. Long enough for love to stop feeling like a choice and start feeling inevitable.

You loved him. That much was true. And he knew it.

“Yes,” you murmured.

The word barely left your lips before he took your hand. His fingers were warm, steady, utterly certain. The ring slid onto your finger with practiced ease, fitting too well, like it had been measured long ago. The diamond rested against your skin, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with its weight.

Helios stood.

For a brief, foolish moment, you thought he would kiss you. That he would smile, laugh, pull you close the way people do in stories when something beautiful happens.

Instead, he turned toward the window.

The city outside was quiet, distant, washed in pale light. His reflection stared back at you through the glass, composed and unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost casual, as if he were confirming a dinner reservation.

“She said yes. Remove the red dot.”

Your breath caught.

Only then did you notice it.

A small circle of crimson rested against your chest, just below your collarbone. Perfectly still. Perfectly centered.

The dot vanished a second later, blinking out as if it had never existed at all. No sound followed. No explanation. Just silence, thick and pressing.

Helios finally turned back to you.

His gaze dropped briefly to your hand, to the ring now marking you, then lifted to meet your eyes, followed by your hand. There was no apology in his expression. No guilt. Only quiet satisfaction, as though everything had gone exactly as planned.

Like a consolation, he pressed his lips to the back of your hand.