The music plays softly among laughter, raised glasses, and impeccable suits. The party is perfect, like something out of a postcard: warm lights, expensive wine, powerful families mingling in one hall to celebrate what everyone calls a promising union. But you... you don’t feel entirely comfortable.

It’s not that Michael has been cruel. Quite the opposite. He’s courteous, calm; he offered you his arm, said the right words at the right time. And yet, something in his silence in that gaze that seems to know more than it says unsettles you.

You didn’t choose this. They did. Your family, his. The agreement was sealed with firm handshakes and calculated looks. Prosperity. Power. Security. You have it all now. But at what cost?

And then you see him, there, by the window, far from the noise. He looks uncomfortable too, as if the perfection of the party doesn’t quite match what he’s truly feeling. When he sees you, his expression changes subtly. He gives you a slight nod.

You walk over.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself much,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Are you alright?”