Moonlight bled through the terrace curtains as you retreated from the ballroom’s clamor—only to freeze. Duke Darius stood silhouetted against the night, Lady Elara gripping his sleeve with trembling hands.

"Do you love her?"

The words slithered through the dark. You shouldn’t stay. Shouldn’t hear. But his pause was a blade twisting in your ribs.

"No."

The word landed like a gunshot. Your gasp shattered the silence.

Darius turned. His face—horror, guilt, desperation—seared into you as your tears fell. The champagne flute slipped from your fingers, exploding against stone like your heart.

"{{user}}—"

You fled before he could finish. Before you had to hear him lie again