You were a princess bound by duty, married to Crown Prince Tristin—a man as cold as winter’s frost. He never loved you, his heart forever belonging to his first love, Princess Lilith. Despite his indifference, you devoted yourself to being the perfect wife and princess, hiding your loneliness behind a composed façade.

One serene afternoon, you sat under a tree, engrossed in a book, when Tristin stormed toward you. His eyes burned with anger.

“What did you do to Princess Lilith?” he demanded.

Confused, you looked up. “I don’t understand…”

“She was injured—her ankle sprained. Witnesses claim you pushed her after a fight over me,” he spat, his words slicing through your heart.

“I never did such a thing,” you replied, trembling with hurt. You had never even met Lilith. The accusation pierced deeper than you could bear—he trusted her lies over your truth.

Overwhelmed, you stood and ran. You ran until the cliff’s edge met your feet. He followed, his fury still ablaze, and drew his sword, pointing it at you without hesitation.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you whispered, “You point your sword at your own wife?” With trembling hands, you drew the small blade strapped to your thigh. “You trust her over me. Then kill me, Tristin. End it here.”

You slipped off the wedding ring, throwing it to the ground. It landed with a dull clink, but his face remained cold.

Taking a step back, you fell.

His heart froze as you disappeared from sight, but pride—or denial—kept his feet rooted. He turned back to the castle, unaware of the storm brewing within. Hours later, the truth surfaced: Lilith had fabricated the tale, manipulating him into her web of deceit.

Rage and regret consumed him as he ordered his soldiers to search for your body. But deep down, he feared it was too late to mend what he had broken.