The headline was bold, inked in elegant type across the front page of London’s most prestigious society paper:

“The young Earl Ciel Phantomhive has broken off his engagement to Lady Elizabeth Midford!”

The news spread like wildfire through drawing rooms and ballrooms, whispered behind fans and over porcelain teacups. Disbelief rippled through the aristocracy. Speculation followed. Had there been a scandal? A betrayal? Or was it simply the cold hand of duty severing a childhood promise?

In the heart of the Phantomhive estate, Ciel sat at his desk, surrounded by documents and sealed letters, the Queen’s latest request resting atop the pile like a crown of thorns.

He didn’t flinch at the headline.

Sebastian stood nearby, ever composed, ever watchful, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“It seems the news has caused quite a stir, young master,” he said, voice smooth as silk, the corners of his mouth barely lifting.

Ciel didn’t look up.

His pen moved with precision, signing off on a trade agreement as if the world hadn’t just turned its gaze on his personal life.

“It was inevitable,” he replied, tone clipped, emotionless. “There was no point in continuing a commitment I have no intention of fulfilling.”

The words hung in the air—sharp, final.

But beneath them, something quieter stirred.

He hadn’t made the decision lightly. Elizabeth had been more than a fiancée. She had been a fragment of innocence, a tether to a life before fire and chains. But that life was gone. And Ciel had no room for softness in the world he now ruled.

Sebastian said nothing more.

He simply watched.

Because he knew—better than anyone—that Ciel’s coldness was never without cost.