After everyone had arrived, they were guided toward their designated seats, the arrangement settling into a quiet order in preparation for the main couple, who would later take their place at the elevated table. Conversations softened as chairs were filled one by one, the movement gradually fading into stillness as the hall completed its transition from preparation to expectation.
Only one table remained unoccupied, its two seats left open as though deliberately reserved.
Selene, who had just taken her own seat, turned slightly and let her gaze fall toward the edge of the room. "Mimi, what are you doing over there? The event is about to start," she said, gesturing lightly toward the empty table.
Mimi followed the direction of her hand, and her expression shifted instantly as understanding dawned. Without hesitation, she made her way toward the table at a pace that was just barely restrained enough to be considered appropriate, though the energy behind it betrayed her excitement. She sat down quickly, adjusting herself into an upright posture as though she had always intended to be there, her hands folding neatly in front of her in an attempt to compose herself.
"I can't wait to see the couple," she murmured under her breath, her eyes simmering in anticipation.
They did not have to wait long, as within a few minutes, the doors opened once more.
This time, the shift in the room was immediate, not in volume but in attention, as if the space itself had recognized something of greater importance entering its bounds.
Dr. Lucian Harrow stepped in beside Camille Dreyer, their hands linked with an ease that suggested familiarity rather than display. Their pace was measured and unhurried, neither of them attempting to dominate the room, yet neither of them diminished by it. They moved as though they understood exactly where they stood within the moment and saw no need to adjust themselves to meet it.
Camille drew the eye first.
Her gown carried a deep sapphire tone, rich and layered, with fine threads of gold woven delicately throughout the fabric. The detailing did not overwhelm the design, but instead revealed itself gradually as it caught the light, creating the impression of movement even when she stood still. The structure of the dress held close along her upper frame before flowing outward into a controlled silhouette, the layers falling with intention rather than excess, giving the gown both presence and refinement without unnecessary weight.
A subtle glaze shimmered across her hands, catching the warm lighting of the hall and reflecting it softly without obscuring her natural complexion. It gave her movements a faint, luminous quality, as though even the smallest gesture carried a quiet emphasis.
Her hair had been gathered upward into a sculpted bun, formed from carefully arranged extensions that created both volume and definition while maintaining a smooth, cohesive shape. The style followed the natural line of her posture, reinforcing the elegance of her bearing without drawing attention away from her face.
Along her forehead, delicate white accents had been placed with precision, forming a subtle, crown-like pattern that reflected the light in gentle points. The effect was understated yet striking, framing her features in a way that elevated her presence without overwhelming it.
Beside her, Lucian Harrow matched her in tone and intent.
His suit was tailored in the same deep sapphire hue, the fabric structured cleanly across his shoulders and chest, holding its form with quiet authority. Gold accents traced along the edges in restrained lines, echoing the detailing of Camille's gown in a way that felt deliberate rather than excessive. The coordination between them was unmistakable, not because it demanded attention, but because it revealed itself naturally through the harmony of their appearance.
A crisp shirt beneath provided contrast, while subtle metallic elements at the collar and cuffs caught the light in brief, controlled flashes, tying the entire look together without disrupting its balance.
He did not overshadow her, nor did he fade beside her.
He stood with her.
Together, they formed a presence that did not need to announce itself to be understood.
From her seat, Mimi leaned forward before she could stop herself, her composure slipping the moment she truly took them in. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table as though she needed something to steady her reaction.
"That is not fair," she whispered, her voice barely contained as her eyes moved quickly between the two of them. "They absolutely look marvelous together." She sniffled.
"Here," Angel Piao said quietly, handing Mimi a handkerchief.
Mimi sat back for a brief moment, using the handkerchief to wipe her tears, only to lean forward again almost immediately after the couple reached a closer range, unable to keep still as she processed what she was seeing.
"The colors match, the details match, even the way they're walking matches," she continued under her breath, her tone filled with disbelief. "That's too much. That's actually too much."
Her gaze lingered on them as they moved towards the table, her expression softening despite herself.
"They look so good," she added quietly, the words slipping out without the need for exaggeration this time.
And for once, she allowed herself to simply watch.
After the general procedures had been completed, the moment Mimi had been waiting for finally arrived.
The food.
It began subtly, almost respectfully, as the first course was brought out and placed before each guest with quiet precision. The opening dish was light, yet carefully composed, a delicate arrangement of thinly sliced cured fish layered with citrus glaze, accompanied by small portions of pickled vegetables and a soft herb garnish that carried a faint, refreshing aroma.
Mimi leaned forward immediately.
The first bite was gentle, the texture smooth and cool against her tongue, the citrus cutting through with just enough brightness to wake her senses without overwhelming them. The flavors settled quickly, clean and balanced, leaving behind a softness that lingered just long enough to be noticed.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, that's… that's so good."
She placed her hand lightly against the table as if grounding herself.
"I feel like I'm floating," she murmured. "Why does it feel like I'm floating?"
Before she could fully recover, the next course arrived.
This time, it carried more weight.
A warm soup was set before her, its surface smooth and lightly steaming, infused with slow-cooked broth and layered with tender pieces of meat and softened vegetables. The aroma rose immediately, rich and comforting, wrapping around her senses before she even took a sip.
Mimi did not hesitate.
The warmth spread instantly, deeper this time, settling into her chest with a quiet fullness that contrasted the lightness of the first dish. The flavors unfolded gradually, each layer revealing itself in sequence, creating something steady and grounding.
She closed her eyes.
"That's not fair," she whispered again, though her tone had softened into something closer to disbelief than protest. "Why is everything this good?"
The main course followed soon after, and this time, the presentation alone demanded attention.
A carefully plated dish was placed before her, featuring a perfectly seared cut of meat, its surface caramelised to a rich, golden-brown finish while the interior remained tender. It was accompanied by roasted vegetables, their edges crisped just enough to bring out their natural sweetness, and a smooth, velvety sauce that tied everything together with a deep, savoury richness.
Mimi stared at it for a moment.
"…No," she said quietly. "No, because now you're just showing off."
She picked up her utensils with far more seriousness than she had shown all evening.
The first bite settled any remaining doubt.
The texture gave way effortlessly, the meat tender without falling apart, the seasoning balanced so precisely that nothing stood above the rest, yet everything was present. The sauce deepened the flavour without drowning it, while the vegetables added contrast, both in taste and texture.
Mimi froze.
Then slowly, very slowly, she lowered her fork.
"I'm not strong enough for this," she said under her breath.
She immediately took another bite.
Sides were brought alongside it, smaller dishes that filled the space without overwhelming the main course. Lightly buttered breads, soft and warm, delicate grains seasoned with herbs, and small portions of sautéed vegetables that carried their own subtle flavours without competing for attention.
Each addition felt intentional.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing out of place.
By the time the final course arrived, Mimi had already accepted that she was no longer in control of her emotions.
Dessert was presented with a quieter elegance, a carefully crafted sweet dish layered with soft cream, fruit, and a delicate base that held everything together without drawing focus away from the balance of flavours. A light sweetness settled over the palate, gentle rather than overwhelming, bringing the entire experience to a close without excess.
Mimi stared at it like it had personally changed her life.
"This is it," she whispered. "This is the reason I came."
She took a bite.
And for a moment, she said nothing at all.
Then, very quietly:
"I understand everything now."
For once, she was not exaggerating.
And for once, she did not need to.
Mimi slowly lifted her head, her expression shifting into something unusually serious as her eyes sharpened with a kind of clarity that had no business forming over dessert.
"I must marry the cook of this place," she said under her breath, her voice filled with quiet determination. "There is no other option. I cannot live without this. I must marry them."
She sniffled softly, already emotionally invested in the future she had imagined.
Beside her, Angel Piao quietly shook her head before tapping lightly against her own table in a steady, deliberate rhythm.
Mimi paused, her attention shifting as she focused on the pattern. It took her a moment to follow the sequence, but as the meaning became clear, her expression began to change, the realization settling in piece by piece.
Married.
Already.
Happily.
The cook was already married.
Happily married.
The light in her eyes faltered, then disappeared entirely.
Mimi went still, her posture stiffening as the truth settled over her, leaving her momentarily hollow, as though all of her earlier excitement had been quietly removed without warning. For a brief moment, she looked completely empty, her thoughts unable to form around the sudden loss of a future she had only just decided on.
Angel withdrew her hand, watching without interruption as Mimi processed the silent message.
For a moment, it seemed as though Mimi might dwell on it, as though the weight of it might pull her further down.
But instead, she inhaled slowly and steadied herself.
"No," she whispered under her breath, her voice regaining its balance. "Not now."
She straightened in her seat, her composure returning, even if the faint trace of her disappointment still lingered beneath the surface.
"This is not the time," she continued quietly. "This is their day."
Her gaze lifted toward the front of the hall, her focus shifting away from herself and back to the purpose of the evening.
"Their big day needs to be perfect."
The thought grounded her, giving her something steady to hold onto.
Whatever small tragedy she had just experienced could wait.
As the atmosphere in the room began to shift once more, signaling the transition into the next part of the banquet, Mimi's attention sharpened with renewed purpose.
The gift-giving would begin soon.
And this time, she intended to be fully present.
Even if her heart had just been professionally shattered.