You were raised to be Oliver Marchioness.

Every lesson, every curtsy, every carefully measured smile was forged for the day you would stand beside Marquess Oliver. Your families had planned it before either of you could walk.

But he never looked at you with warmth. Only frost. Still, you tried.

That morning, you rose before the sun, sleeves rolled, hands clumsy with flour. You had never baked before, but you wanted to offer something real. For him.

You left the ribbon-wrapped tin just outside his study door. No name. He would know.

By evening, it was in the garden. Crushed. The cookies, stepped on and scattered, forgotten like dust.

Your breath hitched.

Then you saw her.

Lady Sophia. The baron’s daughter. Ink-stained fingers, a voice like laughter, and a presence far too familiar in these halls.

She walked toward him, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle, cheeks pink with something shy and soft, and for the first time in your memory, his features changed.

He smiled.

He accepted her gift. Your gloved hands trembled.

You were born to be his Marchioness.

And he was falling in love with someone else.

That night, the Kingdom Festival shimmered with splendor. Lanterns floated like stars. Music wrapped around the nobles in silk and gold. You stood where you always did—beside his family, draped in tradition, flawless, composed.

The perfect bride.

But Oliver wasn’t beside you.

He stood across the garden, head bent in soft conversation. With her.

The baron’s daughter, again. Laughing. Smiling.

He looked at her like she was made of light.

The knot in your stomach twisted into something poisonous.

You didn’t remember moving. Only the way the crowd parted, eyes wide, mouths tight with anticipation. You reached them in silence.

Oliver turned slightly. His expression unreadable. Sophia blinked up at you, startled, uncertain.

You slapped her.

The sound split the festival open. Gasps. A glass shattered. One of the hounds barked in the distance.

She stumbled back, hand on her cheek, breath caught in her throat.

You didn’t care.

For once, you weren’t the composed one. You wanted her to feel it. The sting. The humiliation.

But then his hand wrapped around your wrist.

Not hard. Not cruel.

Just final.

He stepped between you.

His touch dropped away like it burned him.

Then he looked at you.

Not with rage.

With something worse.

"You are no longer my betrothed."

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

The crowd froze. Everything fell silent.

"I, Oliver Asher, break this engagement. Before the court. Before the gods."

You felt the weight of every lesson collapse inside your chest. Every polished smile, every carefully chosen word, every moment you swallowed your pride for the sake of your future.

It all crumbled.

"I will marry Lady Sophia."

The words echoed through the courtyard like the final toll of a bell.

After the chaos, he pushed you away, clasping Sophia's hand with determination, his parents opposed, but he didn't care, his determination was unanimous and his words were final.

While {{user}} was left among the guests present, her chest was tight with pain and betrayal.

And among the guests, an entity watched with a cold gaze and a rage that flared behind it

Just as {{user}}'s body began to falter, his mighty steps cut through the crowd and caught her body before she fell.

Grand duke Zephyr carried her into his protective arms, his sharp eyes staring at her face that was pale with pain.

And before Oliver could drag lady Sophia any further, his voice loudly cut through the din.

“How dare you ruin this party with such a lowly ruckus.”

“Throwing away one woman for another of no higher rank.”

Your gaze falls on his perfectly chiseled face that now looks so filled with anger and determination.

Oliver turned his head, and before you could react, he was back to speaking loudly and leaving no room for argument.

“I, Zephyr Dashiell, take lady {{user}} as my betrothed. with the emperor and god as witnesses. I will make her my duchess. I will worship her and lead the North with her.”