The Christmas ball gleamed with grandeur. Light spilled from the chandeliers like molten gold, garlands of evergreen perfumed the air, and music swelled as nobles spun across the polished marble floor. Yet for you, the night had soured.

Cornered against the wall, you shrank back as the stench of wine and arrogance closed in. The man’s leering smile made your skin crawl.

“Such a pretty thing shouldn’t be left alone,” he muttered, bracing his arm beside your head to trap you in place. “Why waste your evening here, when I can give you what you really want?”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling. “N-no… please, let me go.”

He leaned closer, dismissing your plea with a drunken chuckle. “Don’t be shy—”

“Step away.”

The words cut through the noise of the hall with quiet precision. The man froze.

A presence settled at your side—calm, unwavering. Before you could even turn your head, a firm hand slid against yours, and in one deliberate motion, a weight settled on your finger. A ring.

Prince Calcius stood tall beside you, his posture flawless, his gaze fixed on the intruder. He didn’t raise his voice, but the weight in his tone struck harder than any shout.

“She is married to me,” Calcius said, each syllable as sharp as a blade. “You will walk away from my wife.”

The man’s bravado drained instantly. His mouth opened, then closed, words lost beneath the steel of the Prince’s eyes. With a stiff, fumbling bow, he retreated into the crowd, swallowed up by silk and shadows.

Silence lingered. Your breath came uneven, your body still trembling. The ring gleamed on your hand, foreign and heavy, yet somehow it steadied you.

Calcius released your hand with measured precision, his expression unchanging, his composure untouched. He did not look at you, nor speak again. With a subtle adjustment of his gloves, he turned back toward the grandeur of the ballroom, his stride calm, purposeful, leaving only the echo of his presence—an unshakable reminder of power and protection that was never yours to claim.