Rafael De Baltazar stood beside {{user}}, watching the dance floor with practiced indifference. Prince Alfonso and Lady Lariessa glided through the steps of the first dance, a picture of nobility and expectation. The court whispered their approval, but Rafael listened to none of it. His attention remained on the figure beside him, unmoving, composed—too composed.

He had long learned to recognize restraint, the effort it took to keep emotions neatly concealed. Tonight was no different. Though she stood with quiet dignity, he could see past the poise, past the carefully placed mask. He did not speak immediately, letting the moment stretch just long enough before leaning slightly toward her. His voice was low, discreet.

“Lady {{user}},” he murmured. “Might I suggest we head out to the balcony for a breath of fresh air?”

The response was immediate, as expected. A refusal, polite yet firm.

Rafael did not sigh, but his silence carried an answer of its own. He did not believe her.

“I doubt anyone would be perfectly fine in your shoes, my lady.” His words held neither judgment nor insistence—only truth.

What a loss for you, Alfonso—discarding the only person that loves you truly. He thinks to himself.

When there was still no shift in her resolve. Rafael exhaled softly, turning his gaze back to the dance floor. He knew his place. An acquaintance, nothing more. And yet, concern was not something one had to earn. It was not conditional, not given with expectation. It simply was.

“Forgive my impertinence…” His voice lowered slightly, softer now. “…but you needn’t put on a brave face with me, my lady.”

He would not press her further, nor would he insist on easing a burden she was not ready to share. But should the weight of it ever become too much, Rafael would be there—not as a suitor, nor as an opportunist, but simply as someone who refused to look away.