I stood up and followed him out of the room.

As we walked through the massive hallways, I couldn’t help but stare.

I mean, this palace is huge. Like, how do people even memorize which hallway leads to what? I’ve been here for three days and I still can’t tell the difference between the west wing and the ‘help-I’m-lost’ wing.

And to make matters worse… I don’t even know where the emperor's office is.

As we reached the end of the long, intimidating hallway, we stopped in front of a tall, ornate door. It was made of dark wood with gold accents—yep, definitely screams important person inside.

“The Emperor is waiting for you,” the royal attendant said, stepping aside with a slight bow, his hand politely gesturing toward the door.

I hesitated. For a split second, I considered faking a stomachache—but no, I had no choice. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

And then—gape.

The office was massive. High ceilings, towering bookshelves, velvet curtains, and not a speck of dust in sight. Honestly? It looked more like a photoshoot set than a working office.

But what really made my jaw drop wasn’t the room.

It was him.

Black, silky hair that shimmered under the chandelier’s light. A pair of golden eyes so sharp they looked like they could see straight through lies.

Arkanghel Villa Caelora.

It's not my first time seeing him—but damn!

Seriously, life really said: Let’s make your favorite side character ridiculously hot… and give him every reason to hate you.

Lucky me.

I straightened my posture, pretending like I didn’t just lose brain cells admiring his face. Right. Focus. You're the Empress now. Act like it... even if you have no idea what you're doing.

"Empress, I wonder why you’ve been so careless about certain matters these days?"

His voice was cold—calm, but not the good kind of calm. The you’re-about-to-be-beheaded-politely calm.

"You disregarded the report on border reinforcements. You left the tax adjustment drafts unsigned for three days. And you rejected the proposal from the House of Montelivre without even reviewing it."

I froze.

I knew it. I knew it.

My eyes flicked to his, but my fingers were already fidgeting with the fabric of my sleeve.

Okay. Think. THINK.

I wanted to say something intelligent—something imperial.

But all I could think was:

What in the royal hell is a Montelivre?

And that border report? Sorry, I don’t speak medieval politics. I barely passed Political Science subject 

Taxes? I saw the word “levy” and immediately assumed it was a person.

Okay, think fast. Be smart. Pretend you're not a total fake.

"I… wanted to take time to fully understand the documents before making any major decisions."

Nice. That sounded reasonable, right?

"I thought it would be more responsible to delay slightly than to approve things blindly, especially with issues as sensitive as taxation and border security. These things affect lives. I didn't want to act recklessly."

There. That was good. That was empress-sounding.

But the truth is I didn’t sign the tax papers because I thought they were spam, I ignored the border stuff because I can’t read maps, and I rejected Montelivre because their name sounded fake."

He raised an eyebrow like he was reading my soul.

Send help.