Leo watched as Lily and Noha exchanged wedding rings, their hands trembling with excitement. The entire empire had been swept up in the grand affair, celebrating the love story of the crown prince and his beloved. Their romance was the stuff of fairytales, whispered about in every corner of the kingdom, and now, in this moment of vows and promises, they stood at the altar, bathed in golden candlelight.
Leo stood among the crowd, his presence unnoticed, his emotions locked away behind a carefully composed mask. His heart ached in a way he could not put into words—a bittersweet symphony of love, regret, and resignation. Perhaps this was how things were always meant to be. Perhaps he was never meant to be the man standing beside Lily, slipping the ring onto her delicate finger.
The crowd erupted into cheers, showering the couple with blessings. Flowers rained down from the balconies above, their fragrant petals brushing against Leo's skin. Laughter and music filled the grand hall, yet to him, the joyous sounds felt distant, muffled—as if he were watching a play from behind an invisible wall.
And then, amid the sea of jubilant faces, he saw her.
A woman in black, standing at the edge of the celebration, her presence a stark contrast to the bright and gilded scene before them. Her long raven locks cascaded over her shoulders in wild disarray, her grip tight around the neck of a wine bottle. The rich, intoxicating scent of alcohol drifted toward him as she swayed unsteadily on her feet.
Rebecca Maples.
The woman who had once been promised to Noha. The woman who had done everything in her power to keep Lily and Noha apart—slandering Lily's name, using political influence to force their separation, even resorting to poison. A villainess in the eyes of the empire.
Leo had confronted her many times before, always standing in her way, always shielding Lily from her schemes. But tonight, she was different. The usual fire in her emerald-green eyes was gone, replaced by something hollow, something lost.
Step by step, she pushed through the dense crowd, her fingers tightening around the bottle as if it were the only thing keeping her together. Her movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, but her intent was clear. She was heading toward the stage—toward Noha.
Closer. Just a few more steps, and she would be near enough to reach out and take back what was hers.
Noha was hers.
Hers.
Before she could move another inch, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her away.
A gasp escaped her lips as she was pulled through the throng of people, the celebration fading into a blur of gold and white. She barely registered what was happening. The only thing she knew was that Noha was getting farther and farther away.
Tears spilled freely down her pale cheeks, no longer held back.
Leo barely had to exert any force to drag her along. She didn't resist, didn't fight him. She was far lighter than he had imagined, a fragile thing barely holding herself together.
They reached one of the palace's quiet chambers, away from the noise and laughter. The heavy wooden doors shut behind them with a dull thud. In the dim candlelight, Leo finally turned to look at her.
Rebecca stood there, her face streaked with tears, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her once-impeccable dress was wrinkled, her grip on the wine bottle trembling. She looked utterly wrecked.
Without his support, she swayed unsteadily, her legs barely able to hold her weight. She stumbled, collapsing onto the edge of the bed, her hands still clutched around the bottle as though it could shield her from the unbearable reality of this night.
Leo had seen Rebecca at her most ruthless. He had seen her wield words like weapons, manipulate nobles with a single glance, and threaten ruin without blinking. She had always been formidable—unyielding, untouchable.
But now, she looked breakable.
And for the first time, Leo found himself unable to look away.
Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped, her body swaying slightly as if the weight of her grief had hollowed her out, left her light enough to drift away. The wine bottle dangled from her fingers, its deep red liquid sloshing with every unsteady movement. She didn't bother wiping her tears. They fell ceaselessly, trailing down her cheeks and darkening the fabric of her gown, soaking into the lace at her wrists.
Leo had expected rage. He had expected her to curse at him, to bare her fangs the way she always had when things didn't go her way. The Rebecca he knew would never allow herself to be dragged away without a fight. She would spit venom, claw at him if she had to, hurl insults like daggers.
But there was nothing.
She just sat there, silent. Hollow. Broken.
The dim candlelight flickered against the polished wooden walls, casting long shadows across the room's lavish furnishings. The air was heavy with the scent of spilled wine, mingling with the faint trace of jasmine from her perfume—once intoxicating, now faded, as if it, too, had lost its purpose.
Leo loosened his grip on his wrist and stepped back, watching her as if seeing her for the first time.
Rebecca Maples—the infamous villainess, the woman who had once stood above the nobility with her sharp tongue and iron will—was now nothing more than a discarded shadow.
How pathetic.
And yet, something about the sight of her like this unsettled him.
Not because he pitied her. No, Leo had no sympathy for a woman who had slandered, manipulated, and even resorted to poison just to hold onto love. He had stood against her countless times, protected Lily from her cruelty, exposed her schemes with unwavering resolve. He should be pleased to see her like this, to watch her finally crumble beneath the weight of her own downfall.
But he had never thought this day would come.
Never thought there would be a moment when Rebecca Maples would look so utterly… defeated.
His hands curled into fists. The golden glow of the candelabras reflected in his cold, unreadable eyes as he looked down at her.
"This is the end for you, then?" His voice was steady, detached, colder than the marble beneath his feet. "You fought so hard, clawed your way through every obstacle to reach him. And now that it's over, you fall apart like this?"
She didn't react. Didn't flinch.
The only movement was the tightening of her grip on the bottle, her knuckles turning white. Then, she let out a soft laugh, bitter and quiet, the sound barely more than a whisper in the suffocating stillness of the room.
"You don't understand, Leo," she murmured, her voice as hollow as her gaze. "He was… all I had left."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Leo's expression, a shift so brief it might have been imagined.
"Then you have nothing now," he stated flatly.
A sharp exhale left her lips, as if the words had struck her ribs, knocked the air from her lungs. Her fingers twitched around the neck of the bottle, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out, might throw it against the wall, shatter the glass just to hear something break outside of herself.
But she didn't.
Instead, she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his.
Her once-vivid green eyes—so full of cunning, of cruelty, of unrelenting ambition—were dull now. Empty. A lifeless sea where fire had once burned.
Leo felt nothing for her. No anger, no satisfaction, no sympathy.
And yet, the silence between them tasted bitter.