Marian hated ultimatums.
Mostly because they required commitment.
And commitment sounded exhausting.
Unfortunately, she had reached the point where exhaustion seemed unavoidable.
Three days had passed since the dinner.
Three days since she’d finally spoken Elena’s name aloud.
Three days since Adrian had looked at her as though he genuinely didn’t understand what was happening.
The memory remained irritating.
Persistently irritating.
Like a pebble inside a shoe.
Small.
Yet impossible to ignore.
The worst part was that Adrian was trying.
Again.
Flowers arrived every morning.
Letters followed.
Small gifts appeared with alarming regularity.
A bracelet.
A rare book.
A box of imported chocolates.
Marian stared at the latest offering.
Then looked at her maid.
Then looked back at the chocolates.
"Do you think he’s bribing me?"
The maid wisely refused to answer.
Years of experience.
A valuable skill.
By the end of the week, Marian reached a conclusion.
A terrible conclusion.
One she would almost certainly regret later.
She was going to give Adrian one final chance.
Not because he deserved it.
Because she deserved it.
There was a difference.
A significant difference.
She wanted to know she had tried.
Really tried.
So that if everything fell apart—
She could never blame herself.
The opportunity arrived unexpectedly.
Or perhaps fate simply enjoyed drama.
Both explanations felt plausible.
A summer festival was being held outside the capital.
An annual tradition.
One Adrian and Marian had attended together almost every year since childhood.
No politics.
No court.
No ministers.
No committees.
Just a day.
A single day.
The sort of thing that used to belong entirely to them.
Marian stared at the invitation.
Then smiled slowly.
Dangerously.
"Perfect."
Her maid immediately looked concerned.
A reasonable reaction.
The letter she sent Adrian was remarkably simple.
Meet me at the festival.
No aides.
No officials.
No duties.
Just us.
Like before.
Marian sealed the letter before she could change her mind.
Then spent the next two days pretending she wasn’t waiting for his reply.
An activity she performed terribly.
His answer arrived the following morning.
Yes.
Just one word.
Yet Marian found herself smiling despite everything.
Traitorous emotions.
Absolutely traitorous.
Still.
The smile remained.
Because for the first time in weeks—
She felt hopeful.
A mistake.
A very large mistake.
OThe festival arrived beneath a cloudless sky.
Music drifted through crowded streets.
Merchants lined the roads.
Children ran between colorful stalls.
The entire town seemed alive.
Marian loved it instantly.
As she always had.
She arrived early.
Naturally.
Because she was excited.
Which she refused to acknowledge.
Naturally.
The morning passed pleasantly.
She wandered through the stalls.
Bought things she didn’t need.
Ate pastries she definitely didn’t need.
Admired jewelry she absolutely didn’t need.
A productive day.
Overall.
Then she checked the time.
And frowned.
Adrian was late.
Only slightly.
But still.
Late.
The Crown Prince was rarely late.
An unfortunate quality.
One that made this immediately noticeable.
"It’s fine."
Marian folded her arms.
"He’ll be here."
Of course he would.
He had promised.
And Adrian always kept his promises.
The thought comforted her.
At first.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
Then thirty.
The comfort disappeared.
Quickly.
Then she became annoyed.
Then irritated.
Then restless.
Then angry.
The progression felt natural.
Familiar.
Expected.
Until the messenger arrived.
Then everything changed.
Because before he even opened his mouth—
Marian knew.
Somehow she simply knew.
The young aide looked nervous.
Apologetic.
Afraid.
The look of a man carrying bad news.
A look Marian had begun to despise.
"Your Ladyship."
She smiled.
Perfectly.
Because eighteen years of noble training had to be useful for something.
"What happened?"
The aide swallowed.
"The Crown Prince sends his apologies."
Of course he did.
Naturally.
"He has been called away."
There it was.
The script.
The same script.
Again.
Marian’s smile never moved.
"Regarding what?"
The aide hesitated.
Just long enough.
Then:
"The provincial medical initiative."
Silence.
A terrible silence.
The kind that rang inside her ears.
The kind that made everything else disappear.
The music.
The laughter.
The crowd.
Everything.
Gone.
Because all she heard was:
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"Thank you."
The words sounded calm.
Graceful.
Elegant.
Everything a future Crown Princess should sound like.
The aide visibly relaxed.
Then hurried away.
A wise decision.
Marian remained standing exactly where she was.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Not breathing.
For several seconds.
Maybe longer.
She wasn’t sure.
Because suddenly she felt ridiculous.
Utterly ridiculous.
She had arranged this.
Planned this.
Hoped for this.
Like a fool.
Like a girl.
Like someone who still believed one more chance could fix everything.
The anger came first.
Hot.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Good.
Anger was easier.
Anger didn’t hurt.
Anger protected.
Then came the sadness.
And that was worse.
Much worse.
Because sadness asked questions.
Questions she didn’t want to answer.
Questions she couldn’t answer.
Questions that sounded suspiciously like:
Why wasn’t I enough?
The thought appeared before she could stop it.
And once it appeared—
It wouldn’t leave.
Marian laughed.
A short sound.
A broken sound.
Then immediately hated herself for it.
Because honestly?
This was pathetic.
Truly pathetic.
Elena Hart wasn’t even here.
Elena Hart hadn’t done anything.
Adrian hadn’t cheated.
Hadn’t lied.
Hadn’t betrayed her.
Not technically.
So why did it feel like betrayal?
Why?
Because he chose her.
The answer arrived instantly.
Brutally.
He chose her.
Not once.
Not twice.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Always with a reason.
Always with an excuse.
Always with a perfectly logical explanation.
The logic no longer mattered.
The choice did.
Eventually Marian left the festival.
She remembered almost none of the journey home.
Only fragments.
The carriage.
The road.
The sunset.
A blur.
Everything felt like a blur.
The moment she reached her room, she dismissed everyone.
Every servant.
Every maid.
Every attendant.
Then she locked the door.
And finally—
Finally—
She broke.
The tears came immediately.
Violently.
Without dignity.
Without grace.
Without restraint.
Marian hated crying.
Always had.
It made her feel weak.
Helpless.
Small.
Yet she couldn’t stop.
Because eighteen years was a very long time.
Long enough to build a future.
Long enough to build dreams.
Long enough to believe someone would always choose you.
And apparently—
Long enough to be wrong.
"I hate you."
The words escaped into the empty room.
Immediately followed by another sob.
Because it wasn’t true.
That was the worst part.
She didn’t hate him.
She loved him.
Still.
Stupidly.
Hopelessly.
And that hurt even more.
Hours later, long after the tears stopped, Marian sat curled beside her window.
Exhausted.
Empty.
The city glittered below.
Beautiful.
Distant.
Meaningless.
A knock sounded at her door.
Then another.
"Marian?"
Adrian.
Of course.
The sound of his voice made something twist painfully inside her chest.
"Marian."
Silence.
She didn’t answer.
For the first time in eighteen years—
She didn’t answer.
The realization hurt.
Because part of her wanted to run to the door.
Part of her wanted to forgive him.
Part of her wanted to hear his explanation.
The larger part wanted him to leave.
Eventually the knocking stopped.
His footsteps faded.
The silence returned.
And somehow that hurt too.
Everything hurt.
That seemed unfair.
Marian closed her eyes.
Trying to breathe.
Trying to think.
Trying not to cry again.
Then a terrifying realization surfaced.
One she hadn’t allowed herself to think before.
Not seriously.
Not completely.
What if he never chooses me again?
The thought struck harder than anything else.
Because for the first time—
It felt possible.
And once something feels possible—
It becomes very difficult to stop fearing it.
Far away, Adrian stood alone in a palace corridor.
Flowers in his hand.
An apology prepared.
A dozen explanations ready.
And absolutely no understanding of why everything seemed to be getting worse.
The distance between them had never felt larger.
Neither of them realized it yet.
But tonight marked the end of something.
Not their engagement.
Not yet.
Something far more dangerous.
Marian’s certainty.
And once certainty breaks—
Love is forced to stand on its own.