The clinking of glasses and low hum of conversation buzzed around him, but none of it registered. His eyes never left you, the soft glow of the chandelier catching the diamond on your finger with every gesture. That ring felt like a dagger, twisting deeper each time you smiled, each time you laughed, oblivious to the turmoil wrecking him inside. He had thought he was free—untouchable—until he realized he wasn’t. Not when it came to you.

He tightened his grip on the glass, the burn of whiskey doing nothing to dull the ache in his chest. His thoughts were a chaotic mess, fragments of you flashing through his mind: the first night you’d laughed at his clumsiness instead of ratting him out, the late-night conversations that turned into something much more, your whispered questions about the future—questions he had brushed off, thinking there was always time. But time had run out.

A sharp wave of nausea hit him as it all settled in—you were engaged. The dream he could never give you, someone else had. The thought made him dizzy. Without thinking, he downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. His feet moved before his mind caught up, weaving through the crowd, his pulse hammering in his chest. He found you standing alone, and before you could question him, he took your hand and gently pulled you into the quiet hallway.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he dropped to his knees. His hands rested on his thighs as he looked up at you, his face pale and eyes wild with something between desperation and regret.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please don’t get married. I was empty-headed before—blind. But now… now I see everything so clearly.” His breath hitched, the words spilling out faster than he could control. “I can’t do without you. I thought I didn’t need anyone, but I was wrong. I need you.”

His voice cracked again, softer this time. “Am I spoiling it by saying Something stupid now? I love you. I always have… I just didn’t realize it until I was about to lose you forever.”