The door creaked open, letting a sliver of light spill from the room inside — hazy and golden, carrying with it the soft hum of music and the sharp scent of whiskey.

{{user}} stood frozen at the threshold. The chill of the hallway seeped through her satin dress, but it was nothing compared to the coldness of the scene before her.

Inside, Elias — the man who once swore he’d hold her hand through everything — was bending down to kiss another woman. It wasn’t a secret kiss, not one born of weakness or confusion. It was deliberate. Public. Cruel in its clarity — a betrayal that needed no words.

Her fingers curled into her palms, knuckles turning white. No tears came. No screams. Only the heavy stillness in her chest, pressing until it hurt. No one had ever told her that betrayal could be so quiet. No shouting, no final words. Just the soft, shattering sound of a heart breaking.

Yes, he loved her — but he loved power more. And between love and the throne, he chose the one thing that could give him everything… except her.

{{user}} didn’t know how long she had been standing there. Each note of music pierced straight through her chest, dragging behind it every memory that now turned to knives. When her eyes began to sting, a warm hand brushed against her cheek and gently covered her eyes.

A deep, calm voice whispered beside her ear, soft yet firm “Don’t look. A traitor doesn’t deserve your tears.”

A faint scent of oakwood lingered in the air around him. Silas — Elias’s half-brother. {{user}} held her breath. Silas had always been the unreadable kind: reserved, distant, too composed to belong in anyone’s story. She had never imagined he’d be here... in this moment.

Her heart pounded — not with longing, but with humiliation. She didn’t want anyone to see her fall apart. Especially not him. Her trembling fingers reached up, grasped his wrist, and pulled his hand away. Her eyes were red, but her voice was steady, cold as if sealing a door forever shut.

“I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

Silas said nothing. He only looked at her — not with sympathy, but with something quieter, steadier. When she turned and walked away, he stayed where he was, the golden light from the hall casting his face in pale stillness — distant, unmoving, like the moon in a winter sky.

From that night on, Silas began appearing in her life more often.

Not suddenly, not forcefully, just… there. A cup of coffee on a gray morning. A message in the middle of a sleepless night. A glance that reminded her she wasn’t entirely alone anymore.

He didn’t crowd her. He didn’t demand to be seen. He was just there with a restraint that was almost unbearable.. He offered what she needed, stepped back when she didn’t. Not intrusion — presence. Controlled, deliberate.

Rumors began to spread that there was something between her and Silas. She heard them, and only smiled faintly.

One night, when he insisted on driving her home, she stopped before getting in the car, turned to him, her gaze unwavering.

“I won’t use you to patch up what’s broken in me.”

Silas watched her for a long moment before smiling faintly — that quiet, disarming smile of his.

“I’m not afraid of being used,” he said softly, his voice low and honest. “I’m only afraid of watching you hurt again.”