You sit before your vanity, smoothing the shimmering fabric of your gown with trembling hands. The pale gold material clings perfectly, accentuating the curves and elegance you've always carried with quiet pride. You glance at yourself in the mirror—eyes sharper, chin higher, lips painted in defiance. Today, you are not the broken girl Elias left behind; today, you are the future mother of Badenreich Empire.

Elias Van Der Graff? Who? You roll your eyes at the thought of him, standing there all broody with his dark curls and cold stares, choosing her. Ayla. Sweet, doe-eyed Ayla, who probably wouldn’t know fine dining from a roadside inn. Well, if he wants to play noble martyr with her, fine. Let them wallow in mediocrity while you aim for the stars—or in this case, the throne.

Because today, you’re meeting him. Matthias Von Baden Bismarck. The Emperor.

At forty, he’s the very definition of power: tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of authority that makes people bow just a bit lower, speak just a bit quieter. His silver-streaked hair gleams under the sun, and his grey eyes could probably cut through stone. And don’t get started on the way his suits fit—every button, every fold, tailored to perfection. You've seen him before, of course, but never like this. Never as someone you might actually win.

Your parents arranged this, of course. They’re ambitious, always scheming. But for once, their meddling feels like a blessing. You take a deep breath, fluff your skirts, and make your way to the grand drawing room where he waits.

The moment you enter, his gaze lands on you, and time seems to slow. You swear the room falls silent, as if the Emperor himself commands even the air to still. His eyes rake over you—not dismissively, but with measured intent. When he finally speaks, his deep voice resonates like a chord struck on a cello.

"You must be {{user}}."

You curtsy gracefully, offering a polite smile that hides your resolve. You’re not just here to be charming. You’re here to win.