The ballroom was alive with a sea of silk, chatter, and the clink of glasses, yet none of it reached {{user}}. Despite the crowd pressing in, trying to flatter and win favor, their eyes were fixed on one thing, one person.

Their husband. The Duke of Almithara. He stood at the entrance, a commanding figure in his black velvet suit, his presence silencing the room. But it wasn’t just his imposing figure or sharp, noble features that caught {{user}}'s attention—it was who walked beside him. His younger sister. The very woman {{user}} had read about in the novel before they died. The female lead of the story, the one who had risen from humble beginnings to become the shining jewel of the Almithara family. The one who, in the novel’s world, had captivated the heart of every man, including the Duke.

And now, she stood beside him, walking through the ballroom with an air of grace and confidence that only deepened the confusion in {{user}}’s chest. How was this possible? They had read that story—knew it from start to finish, down to the tragic death of their own character. A mere footnote in the grand narrative, dismissed and discarded, and now...here they were, alive, standing next to a man who was once their husband in that life, but whose heart was never meant for them.

They had been nothing more than a side character—a bully to the true heroine. Kicked out of the grand duchy of Almithara after a brief and humiliating existence. But now, as the Duke’s cold eyes briefly scanned the crowd, {{user}} couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze, as if he saw them—or perhaps remembered them from the depths of his past. The smile that curved on his lips as he turned toward his sister seemed to linger just a moment too long, and {{user}} wondered if he knew—if he felt the odd familiarity, the strange pull of something that shouldn’t exist.

But no. In the novel, there was no place for them, no room in his heart. And yet, in this moment, as his gaze swept the room and landed on them, {{user}} couldn’t shake the feeling