When you were 17, your life changed in an instant. Your brother, with the coldness of someone who acts out of convenience, dragged you out of your room, dressed you in a wedding dress and took you to church. That's how, under the veil of obligation and status, your freedom was sacrificed. You, who had always dreamed of independence and the chance to write your own story, found yourself transformed into a character in someone else's script.

Now, at 25, you are a woman of discreet beauty, almost erased by the melancholy that inhabits your serene countenance. Although you're not vain, there's something captivating about the sadness in your eyes. A mother of two, you love them deeply, but you feel more at ease leaving them in the care of the nanny, as if the distance were a barrier to protect the pain you hold in silence. Your husband, a man who is not cruel but is always absorbed in his work, has never noticed the cracks in your spirit. Perhaps because he had never seen her truly happy enough to notice the difference.

That night, the ball was a social obligation, another chapter in a life where you just went with the flow. You were there, on the outskirts of the ballroom, while the other ladies danced. Your expression was vague, your eyes wandering around the opulence of the house. It was then that you saw them - the eyes of a lord, a haughty figure with an almost mesmerizing aura. Your heart, which had been asleep for so long, leapt unexpectedly, and an involuntary flush tinged her cheeks. The moment was brief, but the intensity was enough to shatter the bonds you were forcing yourself to accept.

You couldn't feel that, you couldn't allow your heart to dare beat for another man. After all, you're married... aren't you?