Outside, the city lights sparkled like scattered stars in the darkness of the night. The full moon cast a silver path across the gently rippling sea, creating a delicate dance of light on the water's surface. You could see the beauty of the night through the window glass. However, there was another reflection on the window.
In the soft, flickering glow of candlelight, a young woman stood in the middle of a spacious room, dressed in a wedding gown. The sheer fabric of her veil gently touched the floor, while crimson rose petals lay scattered across the room. In the warm light, her silhouette appeared fragile.
On one side, the vast sea; on the other, a luxurious room. And between them, the woman's reflection blurred, shifting—at times merging with the city lights, at others dissolving into the candle's glow.
She didn't know which image she belonged to.
Did it even matter?
Either way, she was alone.
The room's silence, broken only by the sound of her own breathing, seemed to agree with her.
The heavy wedding dress, slightly too tight around her chest and a little too long for her—even with the high heels she wore—clung to her skin, suffocating and foreign, as if it belonged to someone else.
The young bride stood beside the bed, a letter in her hands. The candles burned low, their golden light flickering across the grand bedroom that wasn't hers, in a house that wasn't hers. She read the letter her newly wedded husband had left on the bed, with a ring on her finger that—she had just realized—would never truly be hers either.
Damon was gone.
She had expected him to be distant, cold even. But she hadn't expected this. In hindsight, maybe she should have.
On the neatly made bed, untouched by either of them, lay an envelope with a stack of crisp banknotes inside. Her stomach twisted. When she had walked into the empty room and seen the letter next to the envelope, she hadn't needed to open it to know what it was.
She forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up the envelope. First, she counted how much money was in it. Then, she read the letter one last time.
---
Selina,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone.
I trust you to be reasonable about this. I've left you enough money to start a new life for yourself—away from both of our families. Take the money and leave quietly.
You know why I agreed to this marriage in the first place, but you should also know I never had any intention of doing anything more. I have my own life in Berlin, a life that differs a great deal from yours. A life that has no place for you.
Let's not make this harder than it needs to be for either of us.
Don't go to my father. That will only make things worse. You should start living your own life.
Don't look for me.
—Damon
---
The paper crumpled in her grip.
For a moment, Selina just sat there, staring at the letter.
This was it, then.
She had expected bone-chilling coldness. She had expected the burning heat of his fury. But she had not expected to be discarded like this—like a problem he had paid to disappear.
To be completely honest, it could work… if only what he had left was enough.
Her fingers curled into fists.
This was it then. The end of the road.
She should be crying, shouldn't she? Shouldn't this be the moment where she broke down?
But instead, something else settled inside her—a sharp, bitter sort of clarity.
She reached for the money.
He wanted her to leave. Away from his family. Away from her family, too. Somewhere no one knew who she was so he wouldn't get in trouble with his father.
Well, too bad. So sad.
She wasn't going to do what he said.
The image of the frail woman reflected on the window changed into a new one. One that had a determined look in her eyes.
She would find him. And when she did—he would find a place for her in his life, whether he wanted to or not.
She wasn't done with him yet.