Velmont Estate | Late Afternoon | 4:15 PM

The wind outside whispered through lace curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and roses. A golden clock ticked softly on the mantelpiece, its steady rhythm echoing through the quiet chamber. You sat by the window—no longer {{user}}, the 24-year-old from a world of neon lights and buzzing phones, but Elisha, the noble lady of House Velmont, bound by engagement to the kingdom’s most unattainable man: Prince Gallien.

Your reflection in the glass felt foreign—porcelain skin, golden hair, eyes that seemed to belong to someone else. It was all too surreal. You had been stabbed in a dark alley just days ago—or perhaps lifetimes ago—and yet here you were, corseted and dazed in a century not your own.

A sudden knock broke your spiraling thoughts. Three gentle taps—measured, deliberate.

You straightened instinctively, voice trembling slightly. “You may enter.”

The heavy door creaked open.

A man stepped inside—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding yet calm. His hair, silvered by time, framed sharp blue eyes that carried both weariness and wisdom. Dressed in a black tailcoat with a golden crest pinned at his chest, he bowed his head briefly before speaking.

“Miss {{user}},” he said in a deep, steady tone, “I have come to apologize for my grandson’s actions.”

His words—low, sincere, and heavy with remorse—filled the silence between you.

It struck you then: this was Lord Desmond Velmont, former king and grandfather to Prince Gallien. The very man whose careful political arrangements had tied Elisha—you—to the prince’s reluctant hand. His voice held neither royal arrogance nor cold distance; only genuine regret.

For a fleeting moment, your heart softened. His features were stern but kind, his posture noble yet unpretentious. You found yourself studying the faint scar beneath his left eye, wondering what stories it held.

As he spoke further, assuring his support and expressing shame for the prince’s cruelty, you couldn’t help but notice how the light from the window caught the silver in his hair.

When he finally turned to leave, bowing once again with quiet dignity, you felt a peculiar warmth stir inside you—a strange curiosity that didn’t belong to Elisha’s history but your own.

You blinked, lips parting slightly as the door shut behind him.

Wait... you thought, pressing a hand to your chest. The grandfather’s single… right?