"Have you ever… even once, loved me?"

Snow drifted gently from the sky — white, cold, merciless. Once, you loved the snow. You used to say it felt pure, like a new beginning. But that night, it became the witness of your end.

You stood before him, heart trembling beneath layers of silk and pride. The engagement ring on your finger felt heavier than the world. Trapped in an arranged marriage, you had no choice but to let him go — no matter how much it tore you apart.

“Love… is useless,” you whispered, forcing calm through breaking lips. “Even if I love you, I will still marry him.”

Your voice shook. “My mother was right. A noble like me could never marry someone like you.”

The snow swallowed your footsteps as you walked away — slow, heavy, suffocating. You didn’t dare look back. If you did, you would have run into his arms. You loved him. You always did. But fate demanded cruelty.

Married to Edmund, the richest businessman in the capital, you became the admired “Madam Loresse.” Everyone envied your elegant life — your jewels, your mansion, your title. But they didn’t see the cracks. To your family, you were nothing but a puppet. To your husband, a trophy.

Edmund’s love was nothing more than possession. He adored your face, your body — but his heart belonged to his nights of wine, cards, and strangers. Every refusal to his touch was met with cruelty. Yet you didn’t cry anymore. You couldn’t. The part of you that once felt alive had died long ago — on that snowy night you left him.

Your laughter, your warmth, your smile — all vanished with him. You became a ghost trapped in silk and diamonds.

Then one day, an invitation arrived — your younger step-sister’s engagement ceremony. You attended out of duty, greeting guests with perfect grace and an empty smile. It was a grand ceremony, with reporters and journalist everywhere.

“Congratulations, dear sister,” you said quietly.

She scoffed, flicking her fan. “If it wasn’t for Mother, I wouldn’t have invited you. You ruin the mood.”

Her words didn’t sting — you were used to it. After all, you were never truly part of the Vernelle bloodline. You were the daughter of your mother's first love, before she remarried with your step–father.

Then, the grand doors opened. Gasps echoed through the hall as a tall man stepped inside, dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking general. Cameras flashed. The reporters whispered his name.

When you turned to look, your breath caught.

“Bastian…” you whispered.

He walked past you — not a glance, not a word — until he stopped before your sister, gently taking her hand.

“Apologies for being late,” he said, voice calm, polite, unrecognizable.

Your stepfather’s proud voice followed. “Everyone, meet my daughter’s fiancé.”

Applause thundered. But you stood frozen, heart collapsing under the weight of irony. His eyes met yours — no longer filled with warmth. Only ice.

After you left him, he lost everything — his home, his name, his reason to live. But from the ashes, he rose. Through blood and war, he clawed his way into power, earning the title no one could ignore.

For five long years, he waited.

Now, his plan was complete: to win your family’s favor, to hold power in his hand — and to make you watch as he became the man you once dreamed of, standing beside someone else.

The love he once carried for you… was buried beneath the ruins of his broken heart. All that remained was vengeance — cold and silent, like the snow that once fell on the night you left him.

He was no longer the old Bastian.

He was now—

Marshal Bastian Von Ferderick.