The grand hall shimmered with golden chandeliers, their lights reflecting off polished marble floors. The scent of roses and fine wine filled the air as noble guests arrived in dazzling gowns and tailored suits, masks covering their identities—yet revealing just enough.

  Albert stood near the entrance, his heart beating steadily as he scanned the arriving guests.

  Leila was nowhere to be seen.

  He adjusted his cuffs, willing himself to stay calm. He couldn’t look too anxious—his brother’s watchful eyes were always lurking, and he knew his father would be keeping a close eye on him tonight. If he seemed too eager, too desperate, it would raise suspicions.

  So, reluctantly, Albert stepped inside.

  As soon as he did, ladies from every corner of the ballroom flocked toward him. Their silken gowns brushed against him, and their perfume lingered in the air as they called his name, their voices a chorus of eager invitations.

  "Albert, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

  "My lord, surely you must save one for me?"

  He declined each one, forcing polite smiles, offering soft apologies.

  His heart had no place for these women.

  He was waiting.

  Then, just as he thought he could escape their company, Emilia Bergstein approached.

  She was dressed in deep emerald, her mask adorned with tiny pearls. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who had been told all her life that the world belonged to her.

  Albert felt his father’s gaze on him from across the room, watching carefully.

  "Good evening, Lord Albert," Emilia purred, tilting her head slightly. "You look rather... restless."

  Albert forced a polite smile. "Only enjoying the atmosphere."

  She stepped closer, resting a gloved hand on his arm. "Then perhaps a dance would help?"

  Albert hesitated. He couldn’t afford to outright refuse her—it would be seen as an insult, and his father would not be pleased.

  Still, his mind was elsewhere.

  Sensing his reluctance, Emilia smiled knowingly. "Oh, I see... you want something more than a dance."

  Her voice was teasing, suggestive.

  Even through her mask, Albert knew she was winking.

  He held back a sigh. "I apologize, Lady Emilia, but I must—"

  And then—

  He saw her.

  Dressed in black.

  Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing the grey mask that rested upon her face. But it was her eyes—those grey eyes, piercing even from across the room—that made his breath hitch.

  Leila.

  Albert barely noticed the way his feet moved, barely registered Emilia’s voice calling after him.

  He only knew one thing—

  She was here.

  And like a moth drawn to a flame, like the tide pulled by the moon, he moved toward her.

  Somewhere in the distance, his father watched him go, his expression unreadable.

  My fair maiden," Albert breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Flushed, mesmerized, lost.

  For a moment, it felt as if the grand hall, the sea of nobles, the weight of expectation—all of it—vanished. He was no longer standing beneath golden chandeliers or trapped within the world of titles and duty. He was somewhere else, somewhere beyond reality, somewhere in a dream... because how else could she look this breathtaking?

  His eyes softened as they traced her features, drinking in every detail. The way the candlelight danced against her raven-black hair, how the dark gown sculpted her figure like it had been crafted for her and her alone, and that mask—grey like the clouds before a storm, yet unable to conceal the golden fire of her eyes.

  And yet—she, too, was seeing him differently tonight.

  For the first time, he didn’t seem like a reckless, love-struck man chasing after foolish ideals. Tonight, standing before her in his finest attire, his shoulders squared, his expression calm yet tender—he looked like the noble he was born to be. A man of status. A man who belonged in these grand halls.

  And yet, the only thing he seemed to care about… was her.

  Albert took a step forward and bowed deeply, his hand outstretched. His voice was smooth, composed, but there was a trace of yearning beneath it.

  "Care to join me for a dance?"

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  The masked nobles, their whispers hushed yet burning with curiosity, turned to see the unknown woman before him. Who was she? Where had she come from? How had she captured his attention?

  Even Emilia, still standing near the edge of the hall, narrowed her eyes, her curiosity quickly turning to resentment.

  From across the ballroom, Albert’s younger brother watched with sharp eyes, his lips curling slightly in amusement. And their father—his ever-watchful gaze bore into Albert like a blade, fierce and unyielding.

  But none of it mattered.

  Leila took his hand. "Yes."

  And just like that, the world melted away.

  The moment Albert pulled her into the dance, it was as if they had stepped into a realm where only the two of them existed. Their hands fit together perfectly, their bodies moved in harmony. He guided her across the ballroom with effortless grace, his touch both firm and reverent.

  They twirled, gliding in smooth, fluid movements, their eyes locked in silent conversation.

  She had never danced with him before, yet somehow, they moved as if they had done this a hundred times in another life.

  Albert’s lips curled into a soft smile as he whispered, "You're perfect at this."

  Leila let out a small breathless laugh. "I am a natural," she teased, a spark of mischief in her gaze.

  "That you are."

  Their steps remained elegant, controlled—yet there was an unspoken wildness beneath the surface, something electric crackling between them.

  The other nobles, entranced by the sight of them, finally began to move, partners joining the dance floor one by one. Soon, the hall became a mesmerizing swirl of silk and shadows, gold and silver.

  Albert’s father tried to keep his eyes on him, to analyze the situation, to control it. But with the entire ballroom now dancing, he lost sight of his son in the sea of twirling figures.

  By the time he looked back—

  Albert was gone.

  Albert stood still, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he tried to steady his breathing. He stared at the twinkling lights of the town below, but it all felt distant, like nothing mattered except the words that had just been spoken to him.

  The silence between them stretched out, heavy, suffocating. He couldn’t even look at her. His chest tightened, and the weight of her rejection felt like a cold, suffocating hand pressing against his heart.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then, her voice broke the stillness.

  “Leila…” He said her name with a tenderness that betrayed his pain. He turned toward her, his voice low. “Will you do me the honor and be my fiancée?”

  There was a pause. A beat where time seemed to stretch beyond comprehension.

  Leila’s eyes widened, and for a split second, Albert thought he saw hope flicker in her eyes. But it quickly dimmed, replaced by something far heavier.

  She hesitated, opening her mouth but struggling to form the words. Finally, she spoke, but her voice trembled slightly.

  “I… I’m sorry, Albert. I can’t. I… can’t return your feelings.” Her words cut through the night, so final, so heavy.

  Albert’s heart dropped. He felt as if the world had stopped spinning. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The realization that she had never seen him the way he had seen her crushed him, and all the air seemed to leave the space between them.

  “Can I ask why?” His voice was barely a whisper, fragile, as if any loud sound might shatter him completely.

  Leila looked at him, her face softening with regret. She placed a hand on his arm, a gesture of comfort, but Albert couldn’t feel it. Not anymore.

  “Albert…” Her voice faltered. “I’m to be engaged to a soldier named Reed. It’s my father’s last wish. I never wanted us to be what you think we are… I only ever saw you as a friend, a good one. I’m sorry.”

  Her words hit him like a storm. A storm of confusion, hurt, and sorrow. How could it be? Why had she never said anything before? But there were no more questions in his mind—only the bitter taste of loss.

  He looked at her, his expression hollow. His heart, once so full of hope, now felt shattered beyond recognition. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I have to go. I think you should leave, too, before anything else happens, okay?” Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic.

  Albert nodded, the weight of her rejection still crushing him, but he couldn’t show it—couldn’t let her see the pain she had caused. With a strained smile, he turned away from her. His world, once so bright and full of promise, had crumbled in an instant.

  Leila walked away without looking back, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the hall. Albert watched her go, feeling like he had lost everything in that one moment. His legs felt heavy as he stood there, the sound of the ballroom music faint and distant. The world had gone silent, and in his heart, only the echo of her rejection remained.

  As he slowly turned to leave the balcony, he realized that nothing would ever be the same again. The dream he had once believed in, the future he had imagined with her, was gone. All that remained was a broken heart and the haunting question of whether he had ever truly meant anything to her.

  The music and laughter of the ball echoed faintly in Albert’s ears as he stumbled out of the grand hall, the cool night air slapping him awake, but the ache in his chest was still overwhelming. It cut through him sharper than the cold, but he barely registered it. His world had just been torn apart in front of him. He could still feel Leila’s rejection—still see her grey eyes, filled with sorrow, pulling away from him. The dream he had clung to so desperately had shattered into pieces.

  The carriage ride home seemed endless, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on cobblestone roads only accentuating the heaviness in Albert’s heart. The world around him blurred in his alcohol-induced haze. The memories of the ball flickered in and out of focus: Leila’s face, her words, her rejection. He felt the weight of his own inadequacy pressing down on him, suffocating him.

  Phillip, ever the concerned younger brother, had insisted on accompanying Albert back to the estate, though Albert hadn’t said a word since they left. Phillip knew his brother was broken, but what could he say? He had never seen Albert like this before—lost and unraveling at the seams. He’d seen Albert, the strong, composed heir, the nobleman who always kept his head high. But tonight… tonight Albert was a man who had just lost everything.

  “Albert,” Phillip finally spoke, his voice soft, tentative. “You need to stop drinking. It won’t make this easier. Let’s just get you home.”

  Albert didn’t even look up. His grip on the bottle was tight, almost frantic, as if it could somehow numb the pain that was suffocating him from the inside out. His knuckles were white from holding it so tightly, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the brutal truth that had sunk in like a dagger to his heart.

  “Please… just let me be,” Albert muttered, his words slurring slightly, as he turned his head to glance out the carriage window. His gaze seemed unfocused, drifting in and out of clarity, but it was the image of Leila that burned into his mind—the way she had looked at him, so apologetic, so distant. “You don’t know what it feels like, Phillip,” he added softly, almost as if to himself.

  Phillip bit his lip, unsure of how to respond. He had never understood the depth of Albert’s feelings for Leila, never realized how much his brother had pinned on her—the way he had truly believed they could have a future together. He’d never seen Albert so vulnerable, so desperate. Tonight, his brother had crumbled into a pile of raw emotions, completely shattered.

  The carriage continued down the road, the lanterns flickering softly, casting their eerie glow over the two of them. Albert’s mind raced, replaying every moment from earlier that night. The dance with Leila, the spark in her eyes that had once made him feel like he was the only man in the world for her, now felt like a cruel illusion.

  They finally arrived at the gates of the estate, and Phillip was the first to step out. He turned to help Albert down, his hand steady on Albert’s arm, trying to offer some form of stability. Albert didn’t resist, too lost in his grief to fight it. Together, they walked through the cold air toward the front doors of the estate, the world feeling distant and unfamiliar.

  Albert’s steps were sluggish, heavy, as though every footfall carried the weight of his broken heart. Every breath felt too hard to take, and the ache in his chest only grew deeper with each passing second. His thoughts spiraled, consumed by the thought that perhaps, if he had been better—if he had done more, tried harder—he could have kept her. If only he hadn’t been born into the wrong family.

  When they entered the hallway, Albert finally broke the silence, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a deep, guttural sorrow.

  “I lost her, Phillip,” Albert said, his words hanging in the air like a weight. “I lost everything… because of who I am.”

  Phillip paused, his hand still resting on his brother’s shoulder. His own heart ached for Albert, but he didn’t know how to comfort him. The pain in Albert’s voice was something that Phillip had never heard before. It was raw, stripped of all pretense. Albert wasn’t the noble heir anymore; he was just a man broken by love.

  “Let’s get you settled for the night,” Phillip said softly, trying to steer Albert toward his room. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Please, just rest. You’ve been through too much tonight.”

  But Albert barely responded. His legs felt like lead as he made his way to the bed, collapsing onto it in a heap. He didn’t care that Phillip was there. He didn’t care about anything anymore. The crushing silence of the room enveloped him, a stark contrast to the loud, vibrant ball that seemed so far away now.

  As soon as he was alone, Albert reached out, grabbed the nearest lamp, and threw it to the floor. The glass shattered, the sound echoing through the room, and the room was plunged into darkness. He didn’t care. He just needed to feel something—anything—other than the overwhelming emptiness inside him.

  The sound of footsteps quickly approached, and Phillip appeared in the doorway, his face pale with worry. “Albert, what are you doing? You’re destroying everything.”

  Albert’s bloodshot eyes locked onto Phillip’s, and for a moment, there was nothing but the echo of the pain in Albert’s voice. “What do you want from me, Phillip?” he spat, his words like venom. “You just want my place, don’t you? You want it all—the title, the inheritance... and now, you want her too, don’t you?”

  Phillip’s face softened, his eyes filled with guilt, but he shook his head slowly. “Albert, no. I never wanted to hurt you. This... this wasn’t my intention.”

  Albert’s hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with emotion. “Then why?” he

  Albert slumped forward, his body sagging with defeat. “I can’t. She’s gone. It’s over. I lost my chance... and I lost her.” His voice cracked as tears finally began to fall, his sobs so deep, so raw, that they felt like they were coming from a place he didn’t even recognize anymore.

  Phillip stood there, helpless, unable to fix his brother’s broken heart. With a heavy sigh, he finally spoke, his voice quiet and filled with sorrow. “I’ll have Margaret bring you something for your head in the morning. Please... just rest, Albert. You need to sleep.”

  Albert didn’t respond. He didn’t move. The darkness felt suffocating, but it was better than facing the reality of his shattered dreams. Phillip left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as the silence consumed Albert once more. The anguish he felt could not be put into words—only the sound of his heart breaking, alone in the dark, a man lost to the despair of unrequited love.

  The morning light filtered weakly through the drawn curtains, casting pale shadows across the room. Albert sat at the edge of his bed, his swollen eyes staring into the nothingness. Three weeks. Only three weeks left until he had to give his answer to his father. The weight of the expectation pressed heavily on his chest, but it felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the unbearable ache in his heart.

  The knock on the door shattered the silence.

  "Albert," came his father’s voice, cold and commanding. "Come to my study."

  The words hit him like a slap, but Albert didn’t move at first. He had no energy left. The relentless pain, the constant echo of Leila's rejection, made him feel as though he were walking through life in a haze, disconnected from everything and everyone. His limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, but eventually, he dragged himself to his feet.

  The study was cold, just like his father’s eyes as they locked onto him. His father sat behind his desk, his usual authoritative presence replaced with an air of indifference. There was no warmth in his gaze, no concern, just a hollow look that spoke volumes.

  Albert stood there, a mere shadow of himself, eyes still red from sleepless nights and endless sorrow. His father observed him with a critical eye, shaking his head slightly, as if disappointed.

  "Tell me," his father’s voice broke the silence, "What happened to you? You look like a man who's lost everything."

  Albert remained silent for a long while, his gaze fixed on the floor, his throat tight. The words stuck there, caught in the deep pit of his chest. How could he explain the destruction he felt? How could he put into words the pain of losing someone who had become the center of his world?

  "Nothing," Albert rasped, his voice barely audible, cracked from the tears and alcohol that had drained him. "Nothing happened."

  His father’s eyes narrowed. "Look at me when I speak to you," he demanded, his tone harsh. "Do you understand the position you’re in, Albert? This is not how a nobleman behaves."

  Albert slowly lifted his gaze, meeting his father's hollow stare. The anger in his father’s eyes was there, but it was tinged with something else—something deeper, like the weight of his own failure. Albert swallowed hard, his throat tightening again.

  "Father..." His voice cracked, struggling to form the words, to reach out for any form of comfort. But his father wasn’t offering any. There was no compassion, no understanding, just an unspoken realization of the truth.

  "You were right," his voice hollow, devoid of any emotion.

  "Love is not for nobles like us." replied his father .

  The words struck Albert like a physical blow. His chest constricted, a tight knot of pain clenching around his heart. His father's words felt like a death sentence—confirming what Albert had been afraid of all along. Love had never been an option for him. It was a dream, a cruel mirage that had faded the moment he had held it too tightly. Leila had been his only hope, but even she had slipped through his fingers.

  Albert stood there, rooted to the spot, as his father walked past him without another word, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

  The sound of the study door closing behind him echoed in Albert’s mind, but the noise only served to deepen the silence inside him. He didn’t know how long he stood there, his legs trembling beneath him. His father’s words rang in his ears, but they didn’t make sense. He had loved her. And now, he had nothing. Nothing but the crushing weight of his own failure.