The applause grew louder, more enthusiastic, people turning fully now, drawn into the moment, into the spectacle of it all. And I stood there, frozen in the middle of it, my hands cold, my chest tight, my thoughts colliding in ways that made everything feel unsteady. Nothing made sense anymore—not the way he had looked at me earlier, not the way he had held my hand, not the quiet, unspoken tension between us that had felt so real, so undeniable. What had that been, then? What had I felt? What had I allowed myself to believe? The questions circled endlessly, leaving me breathless, lost in a storm I couldn't escape.
And then—he looked at me. Not at the crowd, not at Ezekiel, not at anyone else. At me. Our eyes met, and everything else seemed to fall away in an instant. The noise, the lights, the movement of the crowd—it all faded into something distant, something unimportant. For that single moment, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to that one connection, that one unbroken line between us. His gaze wasn't casual. It wasn't indifferent. It held something deeper, something searching, something that made my heart stutter painfully in my chest. I couldn't look away, even though every instinct told me that I should, that I needed to, that staying in that moment would only make everything worse. But I stayed. Because in that fragile, suspended second, everything inside me collided—the confusion, the hurt, the vulnerability I hated so much, and something else that refused to disappear no matter how hard I tried to push it away. The memory of him. The way he had said my name, the way his presence had felt beside mine, the way his touch had lingered long after it should have. And now he was standing there, in the center of everything, in the light, beside someone else… and still looking at me like I was the only thing he could see.
His gaze held mine like a quiet confession neither of us was allowed to speak out loud. It didn't make sense—nothing about this moment did—and yet the way he looked at me unraveled something fragile and stubborn inside my chest, something that refused to break completely even when everything around it was telling it to. The applause was still going, loud and celebratory, echoing through the grand hall as if the entire world had agreed on something I hadn't been told about, something I hadn't prepared myself to witness. And yet, in the middle of it, his eyes didn't leave mine. Not even for a second. Not when Lila shifted slightly beside him, not when Ezekiel's voice continued in the background, not when the spotlight burned down on them both, demanding their attention. It was like he had forgotten all of it. Or worse—like he remembered it all and chose to look at me anyway.
My breathing became uneven, shallow in a way that made my chest rise and fall too quickly beneath the fitted fabric of my dress. I could feel the weight of the room pressing in on me again, the heat of bodies, the shimmer of chandeliers, the hum of voices that had begun to pick back up now that the announcement had been made. But none of it felt real. Not compared to this. Not compared to the way his expression shifted—just slightly—something softer slipping through the carefully controlled composure he wore for everyone else. It was subtle, so subtle that no one else would notice. But I did. I noticed everything when it came to him. And that only made it worse.
Because how could he look at me like that—like I mattered, like I was something more—while standing there, in the light, beside another woman, in the middle of an announcement that tied him to a future that clearly didn't include me?
My fingers trembled faintly at my sides, and I forced them still, pressing them lightly against the fabric of my dress as if grounding myself in something physical would stop my thoughts from spiraling further. I wanted to look away. I needed to. But I couldn't. There was something holding me there, something pulling me deeper into that moment, into that connection that felt too intense, too real to ignore.
Lila turned slightly then, her attention shifting toward him, and for a brief second, the spell broke. His gaze flickered—just for a moment—and that was all it took. The world rushed back in, loud and overwhelming, crashing into me with a force that made my head spin slightly. I blinked, my lashes lowering as I tried to steady myself, to regain control over the storm building inside me.
This wasn't right.
None of this was right.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a slow breath, even though it felt like it didn't reach deep enough into my lungs. My thoughts were a mess, tangled between what I had seen, what I had felt, and what was now undeniably real. The announcement. The marriage. The way the room had reacted with approval, with excitement, as if this was something everyone had been expecting, something inevitable.
And I had been standing there like a fool, believing in something else entirely.
A quiet, bitter realization settled in the back of my mind, heavier this time, harder to ignore. Maybe I had never been part of his world the way I thought I was. Maybe I had only been… passing through it.
The thought made my chest ache in a way that felt almost physical.
I shifted my weight slightly, the movement small but enough to remind me that I was still here, still standing in the middle of a room full of people who would not hesitate to notice even the smallest sign of weakness. I couldn't let that happen. Not now. Not here.
So I straightened.
Just slightly.
Enough to lift my chin, to smooth the expression on my face into something neutral, something controlled. I had learned how to do that a long time ago—how to hide what I was feeling, how to bury it deep enough that no one could see it unless I wanted them to.
But it was harder now.