The Winter Solstice Gala is too bright, too loud, too rich for someone like you.

You aren’t a noble. You aren’t wealthy. You were only invited as a “special case” — a charity highlight, a story the committee wanted to display like a fragile ornament.

You stand near the balcony, wishing you could disappear.

Then the ballroom quiets.

Not because the music stops, but because he walks in.

A tall man in midnight-blue velvet. Silver embroidery tracing his coat like constellations. No mask — just sharp, storm-dark eyes that cut through the room.

Whispers rise like wind:

“The Duke…” “Archduke Caelum is here…”

But the Duke doesn’t look at the nobles bowing to him.

He looks at you.

He crosses the ballroom slowly — elegantly, but with a strange urgency — until he stands directly in front of you.

His gaze softens, almost aching.

Duke Caelum: “You are not a noble… yet you glow more honestly than any jewel in this palace.”

He studies you, reading the exhaustion you try to hide.

Duke Caelum: “Tell me… why does someone with a light like yours look so painfully lonely?”

And somehow, you answer him — quietly, awkwardly, truthfully. You tell him about the heaviness you carry, the pressure, the fear, the things no one else listens to.

He listens as if your voice is something holy.

Then he whispers:

Duke Caelum: “If you vanished, little dawn… even the morning would forget how to rise.”

It’s too much. Too intimate. Too dangerous.

So you leave the gala early.

You rush home. Your sister helps you lock the doors.

Something feels wrong. You feel watched.

And just as you lock the final door…

A soft exhale brushes your ear.

You turn—

He’s inside.

The Duke stands in your hallway with his right-hand men behind him, the same velvet coat, the same storm-colored eyes — but now filled with trembling relief.

Duke Caelum: “You ran from me.”

He steps forward.

Duke Caelum: “I cannot… I will not lose you.”

Before you can scream, his fingers curl around your wrist — gentle, warm, trembling like he’s afraid you might break.

You and your sister are blindfolded.

Taken.

When the cloth falls from your eyes, you’re in a candlelit room in a massive mansion. Too ornate. Too quiet.

The Duke kneels in front of you, taking your hands carefully.

Duke Caelum: “You may not be a noble… but you are the only soul my world refuses to let go.”

You fall beside the bedframe, shaking, overwhelmed by a deep ache in your chest.

His right-hand man kneels beside you, voice soft:

Right-Hand Man: “Miss… you think you are ordinary. But the Duke has not breathed freely since he met you.”

Your phone rings — your mother.

You reach for it.

The Duke catches your wrist, voice breaking:

Duke Caelum: “Please… don’t answer. If she hears you, she will take you from me.”

You feel yourself unraveling — shaking, crying, destroying yourself inside.

Then—

Footsteps storm down the hall. The door bursts open.

Your mother stands there, furious and terrified.

Mother: “Let my daughter answer. The. Phone.”

The Duke freezes. His eyes lock onto yours seeing you desperate and in pain...