Your family has always been entangled with power and tradition. When you were eighteen, the marriage was arranged — you to marry Suguru Geto, son of a political tycoon, sealing an alliance that would benefit both families.

You didn't love him back then. You barely knew him.

But you learned.

You saw how he was quiet at first, but thoughtful. He listened more than he spoke. He made time for your questions, your rants, your silences. Slowly, the arrangement stopped feeling like a burden. And when he smiled at you at family dinners, you imagined it meant something.

So when he left for abroad to finish law school, and you stayed to build your own name in your father’s company, you held on to the thought: “He’ll come back. We’re promised. It’s just a matter of time.”

Until today.

Your living room is full of murmurs, champagne glasses clinking, and your parents glowing with pride. Suguru stands by the grand staircase with your younger sister, Elara, hands gently clasped with hers. You stare, trying to understand what your eyes are seeing but your mind refuses to believe.

Your mother says it like it’s nothing.

“Elara and Suguru. Isn’t it perfect? He proposed just last week in Kyoto. Oh, sweetheart,” she adds, touching your arm, “you’ll find your own match soon.”

The walls tilt.

You manage to walk over, each step heavier than the last, but you smile — trained to, expected to. You look at Suguru, the boy who used to ask if you liked jasmine tea or oolong better. The boy who once tucked a book of poems under your door before your exams.

You whisper, just loud enough for only him to hear.

"So… was I just the placeholder until she was ready?"

Suguru freezes. He’s still holding Elara’s hand, but his grip loosens.

You wait, pretending to sip your champagne as the room buzzes around you like white noise. A violinist in the corner plays a soft, sweet tune completely at odds with the bitterness in your chest.

He finally lets go of Elara’s hand and steps toward you, just far enough for it to not cause a scene, but close enough that his voice is for you alone.

“I never thought of you as a placeholder,” he says quietly. “You were the plan. The safe one. The… expected one.”

You laugh — short and sharp. “So that’s what I was. A plan.”

“I tried,” he says, eyes flickering, as if the truth is too bright to look at. “I thought I could fall in love with you. And I liked you — I did. But with Elara, it just happened. It wasn’t meant to be a betrayal.”

You tilt your head slightly, something in your chest cracking like thin glass.

“Then why didn’t you tell me before all this? Before the announcement, before the press invitations, before—”

“I didn’t know how,” he interrupts, and for the first time, his voice cracks. “You’ve always been… composed. Perfect. I thought you’d be fine.”

You want to laugh again, but your throat’s too tight.

Behind him, Elara watches — unsure whether to approach or stay put. You wonder what she knows. What he’s told her.