Twilight painted the sky in yellowish hues, adorning the heavens above the Ardent House gardens. Spring flowers bloomed along the stone path, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of white roses from the flowerbeds near the small lake.

 

Amidst this tranquility, a man's footsteps echoed through the garden. He wore a long, dark brown coat with elegant gold embroidery adorning the cuffs and collar. A metal rose brooch was pinned to his left chest.

 

The man walked, carrying a bouquet hidden behind his back. His face was filled with confidence, a clear hope shining in his eyes.

 

He stopped before the pavilion in the center of the garden. His eyes fell upon the girl inside—a girl with wavy, golden hair, shimmering under the twilight sun.

 

"Isabelle...!" he called her name with fervor. His heart beat a little faster as he approached the pavilion, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he nervously awaited her response.

 

Isabelle, sitting on a marble chair in the pavilion, slowly turned towards him. Her face was as beautiful as ever, yet it lacked its usual warmth.

 

"I've been waiting for you, Keith," she said with a slight smile, her hand touching the porcelain cup before her.

 

Keith ascended the pavilion steps, his initial enthusiasm now tinged with uncertainty. He brought out the bouquet from behind his back and offered it to Isabelle.

 

"For you, white roses. Didn't you say you liked these?" he said with a smile.

 

Isabelle gazed at the roses, her eyes following the petals, still fresh and exuding a distinctive fragrance.  However, instead of accepting them warmly and smiling as usual, she simply sighed softly and looked away towards the sprawling garden.

 

"You know me so well, don't you?" she murmured, almost to herself. "I used to like them, but I don't think I do anymore."

 

Keith fell silent for a moment, his eyes widening at her words. His outstretched hand, still holding the bouquet, felt stiff. His smile faltered, and his gaze shifted to confusion.

 

"Isabelle... what's wrong with you?" he asked cautiously, trying to decipher this unfamiliar change in her demeanor.

 

"Please don't make this harder, Keith," Isabelle said, her voice almost swallowed by the evening breeze sweeping through the garden. She lowered her head, looking at her intertwined fingers in her lap. "I don't think I can hide this any longer."

 

She slowly raised her head, meeting Keith's gaze with eyes that were soft yet resolute. "I'm sorry, I can't accept the flowers."

 

Keith was momentarily speechless; the bouquet felt heavier than before. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at her, seeking an explanation.

 

"What do you mean, Isabelle?" he asked hoarsely. "Didn't you say you loved me? Then why did you send that letter last winter?" He clutched the flowers tighter, as if hoping it was all a nightmare that would soon end. "Didn't you say you wanted to see the spring sun with me?"

 

Isabelle stood up and slowly walked towards him. The pavilion steps separated them; the wind blew strongly, causing her golden hair to flutter.

 

She lowered her head, looking at the man before her.

 

“I… I don’t know what I feel anymore, Keith,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, like the rustling of the wind. “Before, I felt that way. I felt we could be together, but everything changed… And I’m afraid that if I continue this, I’ll only hurt us both.”

 

Keith felt as if the world around him had stopped turning. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. All the feelings he had harbored for years, all the dreams he had built with Isabelle, shattered in an instant.

 

Isabelle looked at him with tear-filled eyes, yet she stood tall. “Liking someone and loving someone are very different, Keith,” she replied softly.

 

“To be honest, I still like you. I appreciate you, I enjoy spending time with you… But it’s not enough.”

 

Keith frowned, his previously gentle gaze hardening.

 

"If that's so, why did you say those things before, Isabelle?" he cried in despair, tears streaming down his face.

 

"I'm sorry, Keith, I don't think I can hold it in any longer," Isabelle said, her voice filled with regret.

 

She then descended the pavilion steps, her dress brushing against the stone floor of the garden. As she neared Keith, who remained frozen in place, she paused.

 

"Our engagement… we should just call it off," she whispered, without looking back.  She continued walking, "My father will send a letter." She continued walking away from Keith before exiting the garden, adding, "It was nice spending time with you."

 

Keith remained motionless, as if the world around him had stopped turning. He then turned around; the sound of Isabelle's receding footsteps faded. Soon, he knelt down, tears streaming down his face.

 

The bouquet of white roses remained in his grasp before he finally dropped it. His gaze was vacant as he stared at the bright sky, a stark contrast to what he was experiencing.

 

"Isabelle..." he murmured, faintly and almost inaudibly.

 

His heart felt broken, not from anger or anything like that, but from sudden hurt and incomprehension.

 

"I don't understand... why now?" he said softly, more to himself. "Was it all... just my one-sided feelings?"

 

His fingers clutched the blades of grass tightly, as if seeking a foothold in a world that suddenly felt empty. His shoulders trembled slightly, not from cold, but from a heart broken without warning.

 

His breath hitched, as if the air itself refused to enter his lungs. The eyes that had once been full of hope were now red from the torrent of tears.

 

The bouquet he had held with such enthusiasm now lay beside him, its petals scattered, wilting faster than they should—like his feelings that never fully bloomed, broken while still in bud.

 

"Why, Isabelle, why...?" he murmured to himself, his voice hoarse.

 

For a moment, only the wind accompanied him. He knelt for a long time; the sky above him slowly darkened, the twilight turning into night, and Keith remained in the same position, alone with his lost and completely extinguished hopes.

 

Then, Keith finally stood up with difficulty, his steps unsteady as if the weight on his heart also weighed down his strength. He looked once more at the pavilion, the place where sweet memories were made and now, the place where everything ended.

 

Without saying anything else, he walked away from the garden, leaving behind the scent of white roses from the bouquet he had carried. His steps were slow but steady, following the same path he had taken when he arrived, only this time, without hope, without a smile, and without a bouquet in his hand.

 

After Keith's shadow disappeared behind the curve of the garden, a sigh was heard from inside the mansion not far from the pavilion.

 

Isabelle stood behind a large window on the second floor. Her gaze was flat, directed outwards.

 

"Is he finally gone?" she asked calmly, almost without any emotion.

 

"Yes, Miss," replied one of the maids standing behind her. "He just left the pavilion and the residence."

 

Isabelle didn't answer immediately. Her fingers touched the glass, as if trying to wipe away the shadows of the past that still clung there. Then, with a heavy sigh, she whispered,

 

"My goodness, I didn't expect him to hold on that long." She said, while massaging her temples.

 

The maid bowed her head, her hands clasped together, her mouth opening as if she wanted to say something, "Miss, are you sure about your decision? In my opinion, the Marquis is a good man, so it doesn't matter if—"

 

The maid's words stopped abruptly. A porcelain cup that had been on the table was thrown violently towards the wall near the maid's head, shattering into pieces and leaving a tense silence in the room.

 

Isabelle turned slowly, her eyes sharp and cold, contrasting with the slight smile on her face.

 

"How dare you. Who allowed you to comment on my decision?"

 

The maid's body trembled; she bowed her head.

 

"I-I'm sorry, Miss. I, a lowly servant, was too presumptuous." she said in a trembling voice.

 

Isabelle raised her eyebrow, her eyes still sharp and intimidating.

 

"Close the door," Isabelle said without turning around. "Get out now. I want to be alone."

 

"Yes, Miss. Then, I'll take my leave." The maid bowed deeply, then quickly left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

 

Isabelle snorted, then walked towards the bed in her room and sat on it. She crossed her legs, then leaned against the headboard. Her left hand rose into the air; she looked at her neatly polished and glossy nails under the twilight light entering from the large window.

 

“Love… Huh? How foolish…” she murmured sarcastically. A slight smile played on her lips, but there was no warmth in it.

 

“If there's a better offer for me, why should I maintain the position of Marchioness… if I can become the princess of this empire?” she said softly but firmly, as if convincing herself.

 

She turned to the large mirror in the corner of the room, looking at her reflection, which appeared elegant and flawless.

 

“Isn’t that more suitable for me?” she said softly, her lips now curving with gentle arrogance. “An Isabelle Ardent?”