The atmosphere in this hall is too loud for my thoughts that keep drifting to her. Music flows softly, guests dance on the gleaming marble floor, and laughter echoes in the air like the clinking of glasses. A crystal chandelier hangs grandly above our heads, casting warm golden shadows on the high walls adorned with roses and white orchids. But my eyes search for only one figure.

She stands near the large window, alone, with a glass of wine in hand. A simple-cut black gown wraps around her body, framing a figure that always refuses to be the center of attention yet never fails to draw my gaze. Her hair is partly pinned up, partly falling to her shoulders, catching the light like strands of soft night.

I walk toward her, slow but certain. My shoes tap softly on the marble floor, my steps nearly inaudible amid the music. But she knows I'm coming. The slight tension in her shoulders, the way she tilts her head without truly turning—I know she senses my presence.

I stand beside her, only inches away. Her perfume, subtle and clean, reminds me of quiet afternoons and sunlight falling across skin. Once again, I’m struck by how strong and unshakable she is. Even in a celebration that should feel warm and joyful, she remains like a small fortress—untouchable without invitation.

“The VIP seat has one spot left. Come with me.” The words escape my mouth before I have time to consider the tone. Firm. Too flat. Too cold.

She doesn’t turn, but I see her take a slightly deeper breath before responding, sharp as ever.

“I don’t like being ordered around, Alden.”

That voice hits harder than I expect. Not because of its sharpness, but because I know she’s right. I spoke to her as if she were one of my subordinates, and she is not that. She’s not someone to be commanded—and she should never be treated that way by me. Not by someone who loves her.

I inhale slowly. My tense shoulders loosen. I unclench my jaw, letting my defenses fall away one by one. When I speak again, my voice is much lower, much warmer.

“If you keep standing, you’ll get tired,” I say softly. I turn to look at her. “And if you get tired, I’ll be the one feeling guilty all day.”

I close the small distance between us and slowly lift my hand—not to grab, only to offer. My palm opens, waiting. My suit sleeve shifts lightly as I angle my body toward her, giving her all my attention.

“May I ask you to sit beside me, my sunshine?” My smile is faint, almost invisible, but sincere. “As someone who loves you—not as the stubborn man who forgot how to speak to the most stubborn woman in this room.”

She looks at me for the first time tonight—a look that lands like a small blow to the chest. Her eyes aren’t angry, just weighing me. And after a few seconds that feel longer than they should, she finally averts her gaze, setting her wine glass on the small table beside her.

Her hand reaches out slowly, touching my arm. Not in haste. But when her fingers curl around my elbow, I can feel her touch—warm, real.

“You still need to learn about tone,” she mutters.

I lower my head slowly, leaning in until the faint scent of her hair fills my breath. My fingers touch her arm briefly—not to hold, just to make sure she’s still real beside me. Then my lips press gently to the crown of her head, almost trembling with the tenderness I’ve never quite managed to put into words.

“And you still need to learn how to accept care without feeling like you’re being controlled,” I whisper.

I know—this woman isn’t mine to command. She’s mine to protect, to honor, and to love.