You met Prince Han Jisung in the royal greenhouse, hidden behind vines and forbidden blooms. You weren’t supposed to be there—only royal staff with clearance could enter—but curiosity had always been your worst sin.

He found you tracing your fingers over a sleeping lily, eyes wide, mouth open like someone seeing beauty for the first time. He didn’t call for the guards.

He asked your name.

You lied.

Still, he kept your secret. And the next day, he was there again.

So were you.

You never planned for it to become a ritual. You never meant for your laughter to echo through the marble halls. Or for your hand to fit so perfectly in his beneath the moonflowers.

He told you about the arranged marriage waiting for him like a guillotine. You told him about your life in the servant’s quarters, always just outside the golden light.

He kissed you anyway. Like his world was ending. Like you were the only real thing left.

But castles have ears.

Someone saw. Someone talked.

The Queen summoned you herself. Not to punish you. Not at first.

She offered you a deal.

“End it,” she said. “Make him believe you never loved him. And you walk free. Say nothing, and he dies for treason.”

You said nothing.

That night, you met him in the greenhouse one last time. You told him it was over. That you were never serious. That you were using him—for status, for fun. That he was foolish to believe a servant could ever love a prince.

You watched his heart break. You wanted to scream the truth. Instead, you walked away.

Now, weeks later, your days are quiet. Empty. You try to forget the smell of orchids, the sound of his voice saying your name.

But then, a letter appears beneath your door.

One sentence.

“You lied beautifully—but you should’ve killed me instead.”