The morning after the argument, Adrian sent flowers.
Marian stared at them.
Then sighed.
Of course he did.
The bouquet was perfect.
Naturally.
Every flower was one she liked.
Every color was one she preferred.
The arrangement itself was probably worth more than some noble families earned in a month.
The problem was that it was flowers.
Again.
Marian loved flowers.
She truly did.
But lately she was beginning to suspect flowers were becoming Adrian’s preferred method of communication.
Which felt deeply unfair.
The bouquet sat on her table.
Looking beautiful.
Looking expensive.
Looking entirely incapable of holding a conversation.
Three days later, Adrian sent jewelry.
Marian nearly threw it out the window.
Not because she disliked it.
The necklace was gorgeous.
An antique sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
Probably chosen personally.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because Adrian knew her.
He knew exactly what she liked.
The problem was that lately it felt as though he remembered her preferences better than her feelings.
The realization annoyed her immediately.
Because it sounded dramatic.
And Marian disliked sounding dramatic.
Even inside her own head.
Mostly.
By the time the Harvest Gala arrived, she had almost convinced herself she was overreacting.
Almost.
The argument had happened.
Adrian had apologized.
Things had improved.
Slightly.
Enough that she could pretend.
And pretending had always been a useful social skill.
The gala occupied nearly the entire Imperial Palace.
Music echoed through enormous ballrooms.
Crystal chandeliers illuminated polished marble floors.
Nobles filled every corner.
Politicians gathered like vultures.
Everything looked exactly as it should.
Marian stood before a mirror.
And allowed herself a moment of vanity.
Because some opportunities should never be wasted.
The gown was perfect.
Deep sapphire silk.
Thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the fabric.
Golden hair cascading down her back.
Jewels glittering at her throat.
For a brief moment, Marian smiled.
Good.
At least if she was suffering emotionally, she could do so beautifully.
A reasonable compromise.
"Your Ladyship?"
One of her maids looked nervous.
Marian immediately became suspicious.
"What?"
"The Crown Prince has arrived."
The suspicion vanished instantly.
Never mind.
This was acceptable.
Adrian looked up the moment she entered.
And forgot what he was saying.
The effect lasted perhaps two seconds.
Three at most.
Still.
Marian noticed.
The satisfaction was immediate.
Petty.
But immediate.
Good.
Let him suffer.
Just a little.
"You look beautiful."
The compliment arrived without hesitation.
Without calculation.
Simply truth.
Marian’s irritation weakened slightly.
A terrible development.
"You look acceptable."
Adrian laughed.
The sound pleased her.
Also terrible.
"Acceptable?"
"On a generous day."
The Crown Prince offered his arm.
Marian accepted it automatically.
The familiar gesture felt strangely comforting.
Like slipping into old clothes.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Safe.
For the first time in weeks, she found herself relaxing.
Perhaps things really could return to normal.
The thought was dangerous.
But she wanted it anyway.
The evening progressed surprisingly well.
They danced.
Talked.
Laughed.
For several glorious hours, nothing went wrong.
No meetings.
No reports.
No committees.
No medical initiatives.
No Elena Hart.
Just Adrian.
Just Marian.
The way it used to be.
Or close enough.
By the third dance, Marian had almost forgotten why she had been upset.
Almost.
"You seem happier."
Adrian’s voice carried quiet amusement.
Marian narrowed her eyes.
"I was always happy."
"A lie."
"A diplomatic statement."
The Crown Prince smiled.
Then pulled her slightly closer during the dance.
Nothing improper.
Nothing scandalous.
Yet Marian felt warmth bloom anyway.
Annoying.
After all these years, he could still do that.
The unfairness of it all.
Then disaster arrived.
Naturally.
Because happiness was never allowed to survive.
One of the palace attendants approached hurriedly.
Stopping several feet away.
Clearly nervous.
A bad sign.
Immediately.
"Your Highness."
Adrian’s expression shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"What is it?"
The attendant lowered his voice.
Too low for Marian to hear.
The conversation lasted less than thirty seconds.
Then Adrian looked toward the ballroom entrance.
Instinctively.
Automatically.
As though searching for someone.
The movement was small.
Almost invisible.
Marian noticed anyway.
Because she always noticed.
Then the attendant said a name.
Just one.
Yet it struck like lightning.
"Miss Hart."
Silence.
A single heartbeat.
Perhaps two.
And suddenly Marian saw it.
Not with certainty.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Adrian moved.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
Without thought.
The same way he would move toward an emergency.
The same way he would move toward something important.
Something necessary.
Something he cared about.
The realization hit before Marian could stop it.
And for the first time—
It wasn’t the meeting.
Or the reports.
Or the projects.
It wasn’t work.
It was Elena.
"Adrian."
The word escaped before she could stop it.
The Crown Prince turned.
Immediately.
Concern appearing at once.
As always.
As though concern itself were automatic.
"Marian."
There was something almost painful about that expression.
Because she knew it was genuine.
He cared.
He truly cared.
And somehow that wasn’t enough anymore.
The realization terrified her.
"I have to go."
The words sounded apologetic.
Sincere.
Reasonable.
Marian hated them.
Of course you do.
The thought appeared immediately.
Bitter.
Sharp.
Because somehow she already knew.
If it had been anyone else—
He would have hesitated.
Just a little.
For Elena—
He didn’t.
The silence stretched.
Then Marian smiled.
A perfect smile.
Years of noble training proving useful once again.
"Of course."
The answer sounded graceful.
Elegant.
Entirely unbothered.
A masterpiece.
Adrian visibly relaxed.
And that—
That almost made her laugh.
Because he still didn’t understand.
Not even now.
Then he left.
Just like that.
The ballroom swallowed him whole.
And Marian stood perfectly still.
Watching.
The music continued.
The dancers continued.
The gala continued.
Everything continued.
Except somehow she couldn’t breathe properly.
Because for the first time since Elena arrived—
Marian stopped asking whether something was wrong.
She already knew.
The frightening part was that she still didn’t know what to do about it.
And somewhere beyond the ballroom doors, Adrian hurried toward a problem he believed needed solving.
Completely unaware that with every step he took—
The name Elena Hart was becoming impossible for Marian to ignore.