Reiner used to chase you around the garden with a paper ring in his pocket and a vow on his tongue.

“When I grow up, I’ll marry you,” he whispered, barefoot and earnest beneath the summer sun. “No matter what.”

You were children then, but your heart memorized the words.

Years passed. He became a billionaire by twenty-nine—cold-suited, iron-spined, with an empire at his feet. But he still called you on your birthday. Still remembered the way you took your tea. Still smiled like the boy who once swore to marry you under a broken moon.

But she came. A girl with wide eyes and shaky hands. A soft voice that stammered like a wounded bird. You welcomed her in, thinking nothing of it.

Until Reiner began to change. He stopped calling. Missed your messages. And then, like salt in an open wound, the whispers came. Many people accused you of bullying her.

You laughed at first. Laughed like someone who had tripped in a dream. But no one else was laughing.

Especially not Reiner.

“No,” you said to Reiner, voice shaking. “I would never—why would I—”

“She’s scared of you,” he interrupted. “She’s not like you. She’s sensitive.”

Your heart cracked a little right there. “She’s lying, Reiner.”

“She doesn’t need to.” He wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

“And I would?” you asked, voice cracking. “Reiner, you’ve known me since we were five.”

He didn’t answer. And just like that, the boy who promised you forever was shielding someone else—from you.

He just looked at you like someone who’d already picked a side.

And you realized—it wasn’t about truth. It was about who wore the softer mask.