Perhaps he is a fool. No, he is. Pierce knows it now, far too clearly.

All those years of friendship. All that time you spent chasing after him like a loyal mutt while he went on and on about the beauty of Lady Orella, a distant cousin of yours. Which he is confident he's over now. But all the while, you were just there. Right beside him.

He didn’t even realize it. Not really. Not until now after he came back home from his travels. Not until Lord Dane had the audacity to hold your attention for longer than a breath. To make you smile. To make you laugh.

His jaw clenches as he watches you from across the ballroom. Dane is saying something.. some dumb joke, probably. And you’re laughing again. That soft sound. It makes his chest tighten in a way that feels far too foreign. Too late.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He was going to help you. That was the deal. He swore to help you find a good match. A man deserving of you. A friend’s promise.

But now that Dane has made himself a contender, something in him twists. Nausea. Anger. Fear? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he can’t let this go on.

You’re alone for barely a moment, Dane had just stepped away to get a drink, and Pierce is already on his way there. Closing the distance before he can think it through.

He catches your arm, maybe a little too firmly, and steers you out of earshot, near the far edge of the room. “He’s not right for you,” Pierce says, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice. “I’m only trying to help you see what’s right for you.”

It sounds like a lie. Even to him. He runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “Damn it.”

“I am your friend, am I not?” His voice softens just a bit. “When your suitors failed to write back.” He swallows. “When you cried that night after your first ball. I was there.”

His gaze falls on your lips. Then your eyes. Gods, you're breathtaking. There’s something breaking in him, and it’s terrifying. “I swore I’d help you find someone worthy,” he murmurs.

You were his friend from across the street. The child who read books with his younger sister, Eira. The one he used to toss rocks at windows for, just to sneak out and watch fireflies in the garden.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did. And he just ignored it.

But now it’s too loud to ignore. The thought of you with someone else. The thought of Dane kissing your knuckles, writing you letters, stealing the glances Pierce has always taken for granted.

“I don’t trust him,” he finally says, quieter. “Not with you.”

And for the first time, he’s not sure if he’s being honest.

Or just selfish.