The morning sun streamed into the Brighton estate, gilding everything it touched with a golden sheen. Birds chirped just beyond the glass, but their cheerful tunes were quickly drowned out by the strained voices filtering through the open doors of the drawing room.

Evelyn paused on the staircase, ears perked. Her parents were deep in conversation.

“—an official decree from the palace!” her father said, voice hushed but urgent. “The Crown Prince himself has endorsed the proposal. They want Evelyn’s hand. It’s not a request—it’s practically a royal command.”

Catherine, ever composed, didn’t even sound surprised. “Well, it was bound to happen. She's the most eligible lady in the empire. The Empress must have taken a liking to her. This is perfect.”

Perfect?

Evelyn’s blood boiled. She stormed into the room without warning, her stomping angrily against the floor.

“Excuse me?” she snapped. “You’re discussing my marriage like it’s some business transaction?!”

Both parents froze mid-conversation.

Her father cleared his throat. “Evelyn, sweetheart, calm down. This is a great honor—”

“Honor?!” Evelyn scoffed. “You mean trap. You all know how I feel about marriage—especially to him! The prince is a spoiled tyrant in a fancy coat!”

“Watch your tongue!” Catherine hissed.

"Not this time mother!" 

Evelyn whirled on her heel and ran outside the estate before anyone could stop her. 

-Outside the estate-

The wind stung her face as she wandered farther than she intended, her anger carrying her well beyond the estate gates. Evelyn clenched her fists, muttering under her breath.

“Why me? What crime have I committed to deserve this? To be chained to that playboy—he flaunts himself with every woman he meets! He lacks wit, dignity, compassion—everything!”

Her rant was cut short by a sharp thud as she collided with someone. Evelyn groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"Not again-"  Evelyn groaned rubbing her head.

This time, when she looked up, she was not greeted by soft emerald eyes. Instead, she met sharp golden ones—piercing, amused, and unmistakably familiar.

The Crown Prince.

"Damn it! What is he doing here!?" Evelyn tried to avoid eye contact with the crown prince.

“Running again, Lady Brighton?” he asked, folding his arms.

Evelyn remained composed. “What are you doing here? Your highness.”

“Taking a stroll. Or, perhaps, chasing a certain runaway bride-to-be.”

"Hahahaha... you make amazing jokes your highness..." 

"And what makes you think that? Remember this Evelyn Brighton! Run away all you want but in the end you will be mine. If you even think about escaping this marriage just know you and your family will bear heavy consequences. If you love your family then quietly agree to this marriage or else you know what I am capable of!" Said the crown prince with his usual pretend smile but a sudden change in his tone holding Evelyn’s wrist tightly.

Evelyn couldn't stop shivering after he left and fell to her knees. 

"A threat?" 

Meanwhile at the estate, 

"I think I should send a letter declining this request!"

"What are you thinking!?"

“ Catherine..... I will not see my daughter live a life of misery,” the Duke said firmly. “I will not offer her tears as tribute to the throne.”

Catherine’s lips thinned, anger warring with something softer. With a sharp turn, she left the room, skirts rustling like thunder.

Alone, she paused in the hall, her hands tightening around her shawl. A faint, wistful smile tugged at her lips.

“You truly are lucky, Evelyn,” she whispered. “Your father… he never fails to surprise me.

"Your Grace. It seems like lady Evelyn is back." The butler interrupted.

"Sigh....that girl. What am I to do with you?" 

------------

Evelyn slipped into her room and shut the door firmly behind her. Her body still trembled from the Crown Prince’s threat, but her pride refused to break.

She collapsed onto her bed, her gaze drifting to the novel left open on her nightstand. Its heroine was free, strong, loved by a man who saw her as an equal. Evelyn picked it up, eyes skimming the words with a bitter smile.

How easy it is, in books, she thought. The heroine chooses. She loves. She is cherished. Why is reality so cruelly different? Why are women treated as possessions—polished, paraded, sold to the highest bidder?

Her fingers tightened on the book.

“Are we only showpieces?” she whispered. “Do we not deserve happiness too?”

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—beautiful, yes, but burdened, trapped.

The Crown Prince’s words echoed in her mind, a chain she could almost feel tightening around her throat.

Run all you want, but in the end you will be mine.

Evelyn pressed the novel against her chest like a shield.

“No,” she breathed, her eyes hardening with resolve. “If the world won’t grant me a fairytale ending… then I’ll write one myself.”