The grand reception in the castle buzzed with elegant festivities as guests celebrated Mattheo and {{user}}'s arranged marriage—a strategic alliance between their powerful families. Unbeknownst to them, {{user}} was sprinting through the dense woods beyond the castle, breathless with desperation.

Behind her, Mattheo gave chase, his voice cutting through the stillness as he shouted her name angrily.

{{user}} had a slight head start, but navigating the forest in a voluminous, puffy wedding gown was a daunting task. Branches tugged at the delicate fabric, slowing her down with every step.

She wasn't running because Mattheo was a terrible person—no, that would have made things simpler. He was infuriatingly handsome, ridiculously intelligent, and capable of charming just about anyone when he put his mind to it. The problem? He folded his socks. By color.

{{user}} couldn't live with that kind of obsessive neatness. She’d seen his drawer once, perfectly organized with socks rolled into symmetrical pairs, as if auditioning for a closet catalog. That wasn't even the worst of it—he alphabetized his books and once, horrifyingly, rearranged her bookshelf without permission.

What kind of psychopath did that?

"{{user}}!" Mattheo's voice boomed through the trees, snapping her back to reality.

“No way am I marrying a sock-folding control freak!” she muttered under her breath, hiking up her gown as she stumbled over roots and fallen branches.

Mattheo was gaining on her, his broad figure cutting through the shadows like a predator closing in on its prey.

"{{user}}, stop running! This is ridiculous!" he bellowed, frustration evident in his voice.

"You alphabetized my cookbooks!" she yelled back.

Mattheo paused for half a second, bewildered. "That's why you're running? Are you serious?" "Deadly serious!" she shouted, dodging a branch.

"You're insane!" he called, amusement creeping into his tone.

"And you're a neat-freak dictator!"

Mattheo laughed breathlessly, picking up speed. "Too bad, princess—you're stuck with me."