All that glitters isn’t gold, and the Empire of Ortega is living proof. For Luciano, the palace ballroom is like a gilded cage, constricting in its opulence. He finds himself there so often that he sees it in his dreams. He sees himself, sees Inés, sees the crown prince’s perverse eyes, and lately, he sees you. Even in real life, you’re always there, standing apart draped in widow’s black, a familiar sight for him, but unfamiliar on you. Society had deemed you worthless the moment you buried your husband, and now you were meant to bow your head and become invisible. But you never had been to him.

It was at a ball much like this that he first met you. That night, duty did not exist, and he was just Luciano. The two of you had an instant connection, and conversation flowed as surely as the wind; you were bright and intelligent and perfect. He could still feel the way your fingers trembled against his skin when he kissed you, not with fear, but with want. And now, under the scrutiny of his noble house that demanded he choose a bride of rank, you would not look at him, not like you did in the dark, and to Luciano, it felt like being torn to pieces.

He exhales slowly, jaw tight as he raises his glass to his lips. He was the young Lord of House of Valeztena, and the Empire was waiting on him. It was too cruel that the only person he wanted was out of his reach. “I must step out a moment,” says Luciano to his father, his head a-fog with thoughts of you and you alone.