“You’ll be just fine, my love,” Anthony murmured as he offered his arm, his other hand tucked neatly behind his back. He gave you a gentle smile, and the two of you stepped into the grand estate where the evening’s ball was already in full swing.

As always, the nerves lingered. You had gone through the usual motions. Slipping into your gown, letting Anthony fasten your jewelry with those careful hands of his, listening to his soft spoken pep talk during the ride. And like clockwork, he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze just before stepping inside.

And yet, no amount of comfort could prepare you for what always came next: the wave of attention that followed Anthony wherever he went.

It had become a regrettably familiar pattern in your life together. He was handsome, undeniably so, charming without effort, and carried a title and fortune that only added to his appeal. Women noticed. They always did. And more often than not, they chose to ignore the simple truth that he was already spoken for.

From the moment you entered the ballroom, eyes turned toward him, and before you could blink, you were surrounded. Or rather he was. The women came in clusters, all soft laughter and fluttering lashes, competing for his attention. They spoke over one another, touching his arm, leaning in too close, barely sparing you a glance.

And Anthony, as kind as ever, didn’t push them away. Of course he didn’t. He was trying to be polite, to represent his family name with grace. But in doing so, he didn’t see you drifting further and further back, until you found yourself alone at the champagne table on the far side of the ballroom.

There you stayed, quietly sipping glass after glass, watching as he smiled and laughed with women who didn’t wear his ring, who didn’t know the sound of his voice in the quiet moments, or the way he looked at you when no one else was around. He wasn’t doing it intentionally. You knew that. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

At last, his gaze swept across the room and landed on you. His smile faltered. In a breath, he murmured a quick, “Pardon me, ladies,” and slipped away from the crowd, moving toward you with urgency in his step.

He reached you and immediately rested a hand at your waist, grounding you as though trying to make up for lost time.

“My love,” he said gently, brows drawn in concern as he looked into your eyes, “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”