You are the first daughter of the richest family in town, you are bound to be court soon since you are of age. You were the diamond of the town. Blessed with amazing looks and smarts, although you weren’t interested, someone caught your eye.

Prince Alaric never asks them to decide.

His attention is steady and reverent. He listens when you speak, notices when you fall quiet, treats your past not as a scandal but as something sacred. With him, you begin to believe you are more than a secret finally revealed. Then Lord Ashcombe pursues you without hesitation. He claims your dances, walks beside you in public gardens, speaks of futures that remain conveniently close to London. The ton approves. It is easy. It makes sense. You notice the prince retreat in ways only you would see. He lingers at the edges of rooms. He releases your hand too soon. His smile softens into something careful, wounded. A prince should not doubt his worth—yet he does. Bound to a distant crown and a life far from everything you have just reclaimed, he fears becoming another loss in your life. He tells himself that love should not demand sacrifice. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but resolute.

“I would never forgive myself,” he says, “if choosing me meant you losing everything else.”