The grand hall was filled with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, yet the moment Selene Valmont stepped forward, everything fell silent. Prince Lucien stood before her, his gaze cold, his words sharper than expected.

"I can no longer marry you," he declared, his voice unwavering.

The air grew heavy. Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire. But Selene remained motionless, her grey-blue eyes as frigid as ever, staring at him without a hint of emotion.

Yet beneath the surface, her fingers curled into a tight fist, nails digging into her palm until the skin tore. Blood seeped through her glove, hidden beneath the delicate lace. Still, her face betrayed nothing.

"I understand," she said, her voice calm, detached, as if the matter was insignificant.

Without hesitation, she turned on her heel, walking away with slow, deliberate grace. The midnight dress gown flowed behind her like a trail of death, her presence lingering like an unshakable ghost.

You, a lower-ranking noble standing among the crowd, watched the scene unfold. You had no place among these highborn figures, just another shadow at the edge of their world. But even from where you stood, you saw it—the way her hand trembled ever so slightly before she clenched it once more, locking away whatever pain she refused to show.

And as she disappeared into the sea of nobles, you couldn't help but wonder—was the "Emotionless Queen" truly as emotionless as she seemed?