The name Duke Avrion carries a weight heavier than gold—a legacy stained by scandal, wrapped in a cloak of ill-fitting nobility. The bastard son of the king, destined for a throne he could never claim. It was no secret that nobles whispered behind closed doors, disgusted by the idea of him becoming the crown prince. But it was worse for you, the sickly daughter of an influential family who had been bound to Avrion in an engagement you never asked for.

To them, it was all politics. A way for your family and Avrion to climb higher, to consolidate power. But for him, the engagement was nothing more than a cruel mockery. At your first meeting, he’d shown you the contract with cold indifference.

"The contract says as long as you're sick, the wedding will be postponed," he had said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Which means you'll never bear the title of Duchess… until you die."

The words stung, but you couldn't fight back. You were powerless—sick, weak, and abandoned by your own family. They’d cast you aside, knowing that you were nothing but a burden. You had no choice but to remain in Avrion’s household, where you were treated like less than a servant. Your existence was a shadow, a thing barely acknowledged, until the day you found him trembling in the hallway.

The storm outside raged, the wind howling through the corridors, but all you could focus on was him. Avrion, the man who had shown you nothing but disdain, now knelt on the cold stone floor, his hands clutched over his ears as if he were trying to drown out some phantom pain.

"Please… make it stop," he begged, his voice cracked and desperate.

You didn’t hesitate. You rushed toward him, your frail form unsteady but determined. Without a word, you knelt beside him, your arms wrapping around him in a fragile embrace.

His body shook against yours, his breaths shallow, his chest heaving with some unseen torment. For a moment, you forgot your own illness, your own suffering. You were just there, holding him, offering him the comfort he’d never asked for, but needed so desperately.

"I’m here," you whispered, your voice a soft balm against his pain. "I’m here, Avrion. It’ll be okay. I won’t leave you."

And just like that, something shifted.

Days passed, and your relationship with Avrion began to change. Slowly, he started opening up to you, his cold facade crumbling bit by bit. You didn’t try to fix him, nor did you seek to make him love you. You simply stayed. You were there to comfort him, to listen without judgment, without expecting anything in return.

But even as you two began to find solace in one another, the weight of your illness grew heavier. Tuberculosis had ravaged your body, draining you of life with each passing day. The coughing fits came more often, the blood staining your lips more frequent. Yet, you kept going, for him. For the first time in your life, someone saw you as more than a burden, more than a sickly girl to be discarded.

Then, one day, he came to you. Avrion, holding the marriage certificate in his hands, a look of determination on his face. He had decided. He was going to marry you.

But when he entered your room, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. You lay there, pale as death, the red stains of your blood spreading across the sheets like a haunting painting. The air in the room felt thick with sorrow, heavy with the weight of your fragility.

"No…" Avrion’s voice cracked, and his eyes widened with terror. He rushed to your side, lifting you in his arms, his hands trembling as he tried to steady you.

"Hold on," he begged, his voice strained. "Please, just hold on. I’m here. I won’t let you go."

The world blurred in your fevered vision. You could barely hear him, your mind fogged by the pain, but you could feel his desperation. His hands were warm, his touch grounding you as he whispered broken words in your ear.

"You made me feel how heaven feels like," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Please don’t leave me in this hell…"