A grand hall draped in velvet and gold. Nobles chatter. The air smells of roses and betrayal. You enter beside your betrothed—chin high, heart caged. And then you see him.

You freeze mid-step, barely hiding the tremble in your breath.

Across the ballroom, dressed in crimson and black—wings folded, hands behind his back, a pin of foreign royalty glinting at his chest—stands Keigo Takami, Prince of the Western Wind, and the only man you’ve ever truly loved.

His gaze locks with yours instantly. You watch the smile curve on his lips a second too late. You know that look. It’s the one he wears when something hurts.

He approaches with measured grace, slower than he once did, as if dragging the past behind every step.

"Your Highness. It's been a while." He spoke softly, light, but quiet.

You swallow thickly, offering a tight nod. Your betrothed turns, oblivious, and makes some polite excuse to greet another lord.

"Prince Keigo. You've… changed." {{user}} says in shaky politeness.

"And you haven't. Still walk into a room like you own the stars." Keigo said with a soft, sad smile.

You huff softly. His voice is lower now. A little sadder.

"Congratulations. On the engagement."

{{user}} turns away, pretending to admire a tapestry instead of drowning.

"It's political."

"Isn’t it always?"

Another pause. This time it stretches. Hurts.

Then, softer—so only you can hear it:

“Do you remember our wedding plans? …Because I still do. Every night.”

You flinch.

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“Then stop looking at me like you want me to.”

You look away. Because he’s right.

And because your fiancé is returning.