Isabelle rose from her bed and slowly walked towards the large mirror in her room. Her nightgown softly brushed against the marble floor, her movements graceful.

 

She gazed at her reflection, then smiled. The mirror showed a young woman of captivating beauty.

 

Her wavy, golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her amethyst-like eyes shone with an alluring brilliance.  She stared straight into the mirror, like an artist appraising a perfect masterpiece.

 

Tilting her head slightly, she brushed the hair from her face with her hand, then gave herself a cynical look in the mirror.

 

"I'm not a little girl dreaming of a happy fairytale with a Marquess," she whispered to herself. "I was born for more than that."

 

She then reached for a small pendant around her neck, clutching it tightly. A symbol of the Ardent family—a rose encircled by thorns.

 

"Roses aren't just beautiful," she murmured. "They have thorns. And I will prick anyone who tries to stand in my way."

 

Her right hand reached for a table, grabbing a letter sealed with the imperial emblem. Her eyes narrowed, and a smile played on her lips.

 

"Prince Kaelith has made his move. Now, it's my turn."

 

She walked to the window, gazing at the twilight sky as it transitioned into night. The golden hues faded, replaced by a deep, rich blue.

 

 

 

Returning to the present, approximately three months after Isabelle broke off her engagement with Keith. Spring had given way to summer, bringing warm weather. The sky stretched wide and cloudless, with a gentle, warm breeze.

 

Keith sat in his study; the large window beside him offered a view of a small forest now lush with summer foliage.  But his eyes were vacant, fixed on a piece of paper he had reread countless times—Isabelle's last letter, written not in her hand, but by the Ardent family secretary.

 

On his desk lay a metal rose brooch, a previous gift from Isabelle. Once worn proudly at every event, it was now forgotten, like an old memory unwillingly discarded yet too painful to keep.

 

Keith rubbed his temples; the ticking of the clock sounded deafening in the silence that weighed on his chest.

 

"Isabelle...." he rasped, calling the name that had haunted him for three months.

 

He clutched the letter tighter, as if hoping to change something from the past. But there was nothing he could do except sit still and endure the persistent ache. Outside, the summer breeze blew softly, carrying the rustling of leaves in the trees. Everything felt distant, so quiet, except for the clock's ticking, growing louder and louder in his ears.

 

As Keith remained lost in his thoughts, a knock sounded at his door. He didn't respond immediately; his mind was still caught on a past that had ended so abruptly.

 

The knock came again, this time firmer. Keith sighed deeply, then stood up and opened the door.

 

A neatly dressed young man stood rigidly on the other side. It was Pavel, Keith's personal assistant. His face was tense, as if he carried important news. Keith leaned against the doorframe; his eyes were still dull, and weariness was etched on his face.

 

"Why did you knock so loudly, Pavel?" he asked, his tone more weary than angry.

 

Pavel bowed slightly, then replied, "Forgive me, sir. The designers from House Maredele have arrived. They are waiting in the drawing-room."

 

Keith frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "Designers? When did I summon them?"

 

Pavel nodded nervously before saying, "I'm sorry, sir, I informed you about this two weeks ago." His voice was hesitant, as if afraid Keith would erupt in anger again.

 

"There's a confirmation letter for your wedding attire order with Lady Celestia of House Edeviene. Today is the fitting and initial design consultation."

 

Keith closed his eyes for a moment, then let out a long sigh. He raised his hand, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

 

"Damn it..." he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I completely forgot."

 

For a moment, the room fell silent. Pavel remained standing at the door, bowing his head, awaiting further instructions. Keith also stood before him, his eyes now open, slightly downcast. His thumb and forefinger touched his chin, indicating he was deep in thought.

 

Keith looked at Pavel impassively, observing him from head to toe.

 

"You do it, Pavel. I'm too busy with my own affairs," he said lazily, then turned to re-enter his room and close the door.

 

But before the door could close, Pavel quickly stopped it with both hands.

 

"What do you mean, sir? This is your wedding, why should I do it?"

 

Keith looked at Pavel impassively again, then sighed. "Your measurements are the same as mine, aren't they? So you do it."

 

Pavel's eyes widened; he was surprised by Keith's words, even appearing panicked.

 

"That's not possible, sir! Actually, I've grown three centimeters taller!"

 

Keith narrowed his eyes, then leaned back against the door. "Nonsense. I think your growth spurt is over."

 

Pavel flinched, freezing for a moment. Then, he hastily raised a finger and tried to explain further, "I mean... I've gained ten kilograms!"

 

Keith maintained his expression, his lips slightly raised to one side, almost mocking Pavel. "You're exaggerating."

 

Pavel shrugged awkwardly, his face slightly reddening with embarrassment.

 

"No, sir! This is true, my weight has really increased!" he said desperately, like a soldier trying to convince his commander amidst a battlefield.

 

"Actually, for some reason, the kitchen has an excess stock of strawberry cakes, and of course, as a good subordinate, I just didn't want anything under your authority to go to waste," Pavel explained, his excuse sounding incredibly unreasonable.

 

Keith stared at him for a long time, then sighed softly while massaging his temples. "You're really... your excuse is so unreasonable," he murmured.

 

Pavel hung his head in shame, his right hand rubbing his slightly protruding belly under his suit jacket. "But sir, I'm still flexible enough to try on the suit. Only... maybe the waist will be a bit—"

 

Keith raised a hand, cutting Pavel off. "Enough. I don't need such a detailed report on your body measurements."

 

He then looked towards the window; his blue eyes reflected the increasingly dazzling summer light. In an instant, the warmth felt distant, as if an invisible wall prevented Keith from truly feeling it. He looked back at the man in front of him, his gaze sharp yet weary, as if implying that today was not the right day for jokes.

 

"If you have no more reasons to exaggerate," he said softly but firmly, "I'll close the door."

 

Pavel opened his mouth, but closed it again upon seeing Keith's expression.

 

"I'm too busy now," Keith continued, his voice calm but firm.

 

Instantly, the door slammed shut, leaving Pavel standing frozen in front of it. Pavel sighed deeply, then gently rubbed his slightly protruding belly.

 

"Actually, my weight did increase," he murmured softly, bowing his head as if confessing his fault to the ceiling. "Although not ten kilograms... maybe only four... or five..."

 

He shook his head slightly, then looked back at the now tightly closed door.

 

"Sir... he's still thinking about Lady Isabelle," he said softly, almost as if talking to himself. "Even though it's been three months... and he's even going to marry someone else."

 

A weary smile spread across his face, mixed with pity. "If this continues, how can his wedding suit fit... if his heart isn't ready?"

 

Pavel shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts that wandered too far, then gently slapped his own cheek, giving himself encouragement.

 

"No, Pavel Darnell, you are Keith Hale's loyal subordinate," he whispered firmly, as if reciting an oath of allegiance. "For now, you only need to follow his orders. No more, no less."

 

He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and began to walk confidently towards the stairs.

 

"Besides, it's not good to keep guests waiting too long," he said as he walked down the stairs towards the drawing-room downstairs. "That would diminish the honor of the Hale family. And one thing I won't let fall is my master's honor."

 

As Pavel's footsteps slowly disappeared down the corridor, the atmosphere in Keith's private room fell silent again. He stood frozen in front of the door he had just closed, his hand still gripping the doorknob as if reluctant to let go of something intangible.

 

He took a breath, then slowly exhaled. Then he slowly walked back to his desk. His gaze fell again on the metal rose brooch lying on the documents on the desk; its metallic gleam reflected the sunlight filtering through the window.

 

"I don't even know if I'm missing you, or angry because I'm still missing you," he murmured softly.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment. Isabelle's face flashed before him, so clear, as if she had just stood on his doorstep. Her golden hair. Her unpredictable violet gaze. And the voice that once made him forget the world, now a source of pain he couldn't heal.

 

"Isabelle... why did you come, if you were going to leave like this?" he whispered softly, more like a question to himself that would never receive an answer.

 

Keith leaned back in his desk chair. Then he remembered something—his upcoming wedding to the Edeviene family. Actually, he had never really wanted to accept the proposal. However, his father's relationship with Count Edeviene was so close that he had no room to refuse this proposal.

 

Besides, for him, the wedding felt more like a political transaction than the union of two hearts.

 

"I feel sorry for that lady," Keith murmured softly, his voice almost drowned out by the summer breeze sneaking through the window cracks. "She must be a victim of her father's coercion because there's no loss for Count Edeviene to establish a family relationship with the Hale family."

 

Keith sighed deeply. This relationship was built on interests, not desires. And he began to wonder... did Lady Celestia feel the same way?