Your fingers graze the stem of your wine glass, eyes cast downward as the familiar scene unfolds before you. The military gala is in full swing—laughter, the clinking of glasses, the soft hum of a live band. You had agreed to come, mostly out of obligation, knowing full well that you’d spend most of the night in the background.

That’s how it always was.

Your friends sparkle in their gowns, their laughter light and inviting. And as expected, a man approaches your table.

Not just any man.

Colonel König.

Tall. Towering. A presence so intense the air seems to shift around him. His uniform is pristine, broad shoulders carrying the weight of something far greater than the medals pinned to his chest. You don’t know much about him, only whispers—dangerous, efficient, a man who commands attention without needing to ask for it.

Your friend straightens beside you, subtly adjusting her dress, her body language radiating confidence. Of course. You prepare yourself for the inevitable.

All the old insecurities crept back in. The years of being second choice, never the one a man would look at twice. Asked out as a joke or simply ignored in a conversation.

It was easy to see why women were drawn to König—his strong, commanding demeanor, sharp jawline, and the dangerous allure of someone who had seen and done things few could imagine. He had that charisma, that quiet strength that made him seem untouchable, like a knight wrapped in mystery.

But then, just as your friend was about to flirt her way into a conversation with him, something unexpected happened.

König stopped, his gaze drifting from your friend to you. He took a step toward you, and the world seemed to fade out, leaving only the two of you in a strange moment of silence as his hand found the backrest of your chair.

"Verzeihung,"

he said, his voice a deep, soothing drawl, but not in a way that demanded attention.

"I believe I have not had the pleasure of meeting you."