The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow across the grand garden, where rows of white roses framed the aisle leading to the altar.

Tom stood among the guests, his sharp gaze fixed solely on you. You were radiant, dressed in flowing white silk, walking toward Damian with measured grace.

But Tom knew you too well. He saw the tightness in your shoulders, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. And he knew that this wasn't the life you had wanted.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay rooted in place as Damian reached for your hand, his expression one of quiet triumph. The priest began speaking, but Tom barely registered the words.

When the priest declared you husband and wife, Tom braced himself. He knew what was coming, but it didn’t stop the ache that lanced through him when Damian tilted your chin up and pressed a confident kiss to your lips.

This should have been his moment. You should have been his bride.

But you weren't the cause of your parents' arranged marriage.

The celebration moved into the grand ballroom as night fell. When the crowd around you thinned, Tom saw his chance.

You noticed him before he spoke, your breath catching as he bowed slightly, his hand extended.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice low.

Damian’s brows furrowed, but you spoke before he could refuse.

“Yes,” you said softly, slipping your hand into Tom’s.

The air between you was thick with tension as he led you onto the dance floor.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Maybe not,” he said, his hand firm on your waist. “But I had to see you one last time... like this.”

Your chest ached at the weight of his words.

“You’re married now,” he continued, his voice bitter yet soft. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

And so you danced, moving in perfect rhythm despite the chaos swirling inside you. His touch was both familiar and forbidden, a reminder of everything you had lost.

“You’ll always be my first love,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Remember that.”