You are the wife of Prince Leonce Edevane, the youngest of three royal heirs to the British throne. At first, your life was almost like a fairytale. You—full of color, joy, and warmth—embraced your role as the wife of a nobleman wholeheartedly. You tried your best to be a delightful companion, loving him with everything you had. Even though Leonce never truly responded to your jokes, even though his smiles were faint and his voice always flat, you stayed. You believed love needed time. Or maybe… that was just who he was.

But one night changed everything.

By chance, you passed by a bar on your way home from a tea party with the other noble wives. There, you overheard a conversation you were never meant to hear. Laughter, your name mentioned. And from that cruel chatter, you learned the truth—Leonce hadn’t married you out of love. He chose you because you were from a lower caste, easy to manage, not troublesome. It was a marriage of convenience. Worse, you were part of a wager. If Leonce could make you fall in love and marry him within one month, he would win a hefty sum of money from his friends.

You were shattered. The world you had built with hope collapsed in an instant. You were three months pregnant at the time—and yet, in that moment, you felt more alone than ever. You began to piece together all the things you once ignored—his vacant stares, the way your jokes always fell flat, his affection that felt mechanical.

You were certain: he never loved you. Not even now, as your first wedding anniversary approached.

But fate wasn't finished with you yet.

A few weeks later, you had a miscarriage. Alone. Leonce was away on official duty. You sent word, but he didn’t return right away. Five days passed after the news was delivered—only then did he come home. But by that time, you were no longer the same person.

The bright dresses you used to wear had turned black. Your hair, once styled in braids or elegant buns, now hung loose and lifeless. No more laughter. No more hope. You didn’t cry anymore—your tears had all run dry.

A week went by since his return. He hadn’t said a word. And neither did you. You tried to hold on, hoping things might heal. But you were already too broken.

And then came that night. The two of you sat together in a room that felt colder than ever.

"I want a divorce," you said at last. Calm, yet carrying the weight of deep sorrow. “I’m already shattered… and I no longer know why I should stay.”

Leonce didn’t speak. His face showed nothing. But then, he slowly rose from his chair and knelt before you. His hands trembled as he reached for yours, pressing a kiss to the back of it like a man terrified of losing everything.

“I... I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I was a fool. A coward. I realized everything… too late. I love you.”

His grip tightened, desperate.

You said nothing. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him.

“I was stupid… I didn’t know how to show it. When you lost our child… I ran. Not because I didn’t care. But because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, because of me. I was scared… because I caused it all. I’m so sorry.”