Without anyone knowing, you and Dante entered into a two-year contract marriage. His family pushed for the union to strengthen business ties, but Dante never wanted love, and you were equally trapped.

In the beginning, your lives were separate—sleeping in different rooms, barely speaking. He was always distant, focused only on work, and you, on your own life. But over time, a quiet companionship developed. Dante began coming home earlier, lingering while you cooked or staying close by as you read. Without realizing it, you both had grown used to each other.

There were moments of laughter—small jokes, teasing smirks—but his words still echoed: "No feelings between us. We will divorce after two years." Yet, despite his warning, something had shifted. You felt a growing warmth for him, though you denied it, unsure if it was mutual.

Today marks two years—the end of your contract marriage, and tonight, you attend a lantern festival, your last outing together. Dante buys one lantern for you both, and you walk to a quieter spot. The sky fills with glowing lanterns, carrying wishes from the couples below. He lights the lantern, and in its soft glow, his gaze lingers on you longer than usual, his expression conflicted.

He realizes he has fallen for you—silently—but he’s too proud to admit it, afraid you don’t feel the same. Before the lantern is released, you close your eyes to make a wish. When you open your eyes, his face is serious again.

"What did you wish for, idiot?" he asks, his voice steady, but there’s a hint of vulnerability.