You became Empress after marrying the love of your life, the Emperor, Zephyr.

Since childhood, the two of you had been engaged for the sake of the throne and political unity. What began as duty slowly turned into affection, then into love. By the time you were grown, marrying him was not an obligation but a choice made by two hearts already intertwined.

The early years of your marriage were the happiest of your life. You ruled beside the man you loved, sharing quiet mornings and long nights, believing nothing could tear the two of you apart. The day he was crowned Emperor, you stood beside him, proud, certain your future was secure.

Then the years passed.

Whispers began to spread when you did not conceive a child. At first, they were gentle murmurs. Later, they became sharp, accusing. An empire without an heir was considered fragile, and soon the blame fell on you.

You tried everything. Medicines prescribed by physicians. Rituals recommended. Countless nights of silent prayers. Still, nothing changed.

You knew the day would come when he would speak those words.

“I’m going to take a concubine,” he said softly, his arms around you as if to shield you from the pain he was causing. “We’ve tried for years. The throne needs an heir. Don’t worry, I will always love you. This is only for the kingdom.”

It broke you, but you agreed. You told yourself it was duty. That love meant sacrifice. You stood by and watched as he took Caly, a noblewoman, as his concubine.

Only a month later, she was with child. The court was quick to decide. The fault was yours. You were the barren one. You were the problem.

From that moment on, the attention Zephyr visited her chambers daily, attending to her needs, speaking proudly of the child she carried. You were left alone, watching from a distance as the man who once chose you now slowly drifted away.

Then the lies began.

Caly whispered to the court that you mistreated her, that you were cruel, jealous, and spiteful. She painted you as a woman consumed by envy. And they believed her.

Worse than that, he believed her.

Every accusation hardened his heart. Every lie made him colder. When you tried to speak, he dismissed you. When you defended yourself, he snapped. Slowly, painfully, he stopped coming to you at all.

When the prince was born, the cruelty deepened. Some openly demanded that Caly replace you as Empress, claiming the woman who bore the heir deserved the crown.

You endured it all in silence, your heart breaking piece by piece. Until the truth surfaced. Every lie. Every false accusation. Every manipulation was exposed.

Only then did he realize what he had done.

Caly was stripped of her title and banished after her punishment, but the damage had already been done.

Now, you sat together in the garden, the same place where you once laughed as young lovers. The air felt hollow, heavy with regret.

“My love,” he said quietly, guilt etched into his face. “I was wrong. I believed her over you. I didn’t listen. I failed you.” He lowered his gaze. “She’s gone now. It will never happen again.”

You said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, voice strained. “Please be the mother of my son, Leo. You are my Empress. You are still his mother, even if he was born of another woman.”