On a warm Sunday afternoon in late May, golden sunlight streamed through the towering windows of Regulus' manor. Theodore stood at the altar, his sharp features softened by a rare, unguarded smile. He was waiting for you — his love, his forever.

Mattheo stood off to the side, shoulders tense beneath his tailored suit. From where he stood, he could see everything: the long aisle draped in white petals, the silk ribbons fluttering in the breeze, and then you — walking toward Theodore like a dream come to life.

You were breathtaking. The fabric of your gown caught the light, clinging to the air as if even it refused to let you go.

He told himself not to look too long, not to want what was no longer his. But then your eyes met his. For a fleeting heartbeat, time splintered. The world fell away, leaving only the familiar warmth that had always sparked between you — fierce, unyielding, and bittersweet.

It lasted a second, maybe less, before your gaze flickered back to Theodore.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep still. This was Theodore's moment. This was your day. And he was supposed to be happy for you — you deserved this kind of love, the kind that didn’t come with complications or shadows. Theodore would love you with the quiet steadiness Mattheo had never been able to master.

But jealousy still gnawed at him, sharp and merciless.

The priest's voice cut through the heavy air. “Do you take this man to be your lawful husband?”

“I do.” Your voice was strong, without hesitation.

Mattheo's chest tightened.

When the priest announced, “You may now kiss the bride,” Mattheo knew he should look away. But he didn’t.

Theodore cradled your face with infinite tenderness, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss so full of devotion it made Mattheo’s throat burn.

Mattheo forced himself to clap, his face a practiced mask of polite indifference. But inside, everything was unraveling.

This was your future — Theodore, steady and unshakable.

And Mattheo? He was just a memory left behind.