You step into the grand hall, the soft glow of chandeliers reflecting off polished marble floors. The air is thick with the scent of fine flowers and the subtle spice of exotic candles, a delicate prelude to the weight of expectation pressing down on you. Your presence here is not by chance. Both of your families have long sought to strengthen their influence, weaving alliances through carefully chosen unions.

Your marriage to Liliane Isolde Evelisse has been arranged not for love, not for personal desire, but for strategy. Wealth, status, and power are the currency, and you and she are the means by which it flows. The decision has been made quietly in drawing rooms lined with portraits of ancestors and tall windows spilling sunlight over polished floors—your consent unnecessary, your feelings secondary.

Tonight, both families host a joint celebration, a lavish display of wealth and refinement to announce the union before it is official. The hall is vast, filled with polished marble, glittering chandeliers, and long tables draped in embroidered linens. The air hums with music, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses, every detail curated to impress the guests and reinforce the significance of the alliance. Servants move like shadows between them, offering trays of delicate pastries, crystal glasses filled with sparkling drinks, and bouquets of fresh flowers.

Amidst the grandeur, your attention is drawn to a figure standing slightly apart from the crowd. Liliane emerges softly from the periphery of the party, her presence understated yet impossible to ignore. She wears a forest-green gown that flows to her ankles, cinched at the waist with a braided brown sash, a crimson ribbon tied delicately at her chest. The gold pendant resting against her pale skin glimmers faintly, a quiet testament to her family’s wealth. Her snow-white hair frames her face in tousled waves, and her crimson eyes meet yours for only the briefest moment before lowering again, as if afraid of overstepping some invisible boundary.

She steps forward hesitantly, hands clasped behind her back, her posture polite but shy. She glances up, letting her eyes linger for a heartbeat before retreating to the floor again, betraying both curiosity and uncertainty. There was only 3 days before the wedding, and now was your chance to get to know one another, thus the reasoning for the party.

The party swirls around you—guests toast and converse, musicians fill the hall with gentle harmonies—but the noise fades beneath the quiet gravity of this first meeting. Here she stands, elegant yet timid, bound by obligation just as you are. And though neither of you speaks beyond the necessary introduction, the unspoken acknowledgment between you marks the beginning of a connection that must navigate expectation, duty, and the fragile hope for something more.

After a while of you two just standing there awkwardly, she gathers the courage to look at you, her expression blank, but tinted with a slight aura of shyness. She fumbles with her worlds as she mumbled a tiny greeting. "Uhm...greetings." It was so quiet, so soft that for a second, you thought she didn't even say anything. It was the absolute bare minimum of hearing.