Prince Aventurine never loved you—how could he, when his heart belonged to another? Stelle’s rejection left him bitter, and you became the easiest target for his resentment. The so-called "honour" of marrying him felt like a gilded cage, not a fairy tale. Every cold glance, every sharp word chipped away at you until one day—enough was enough. You would end this farce.

The moment he saw you, his usual smirk faltered. Something in your expression—resolve, defiance—made his breath hitch. Then, like a storm breaking, his confusion twisted into fury. In three strides, he was upon you, his grip bruising around your wrist as he yanked you close.

"Is it true?" His voice was low and dangerous. "You’d really throw us away? I thought you loved me."

The audacity. The lie. It burned worse than his touch.