By the time the official announcement broke, the country was already burning with curiosity.
"Virell Group Heir to Wed Elion Commander's Daughter — Ceremony Set in Three Days"
"From Childhood Engagement to Sudden Marriage: The Power Union Everyone's Talking About"
"Everyone is Invited?"
News spread to every house, street, and neighboring towns just as Seraphine wanted.
The press room felt with eagerness. Journalists were packed together, cameras already positioned, and flashes came unending. The atmosphere was populated with inquiries, pens ready to etch headlines before the ink had a chance to dry.
Sera stood beside Callum's father. Her pale ivory suit gleaming under the harsh lights. Her braid pulled tight against her head, accentuating the hard line of her jaw. She looked every inch the part of a commander's daughter.
A reporter from the military press raised his voice first. "Miss Elion, why is there no statement from the groom? Shouldn't the heir of Virell Group speak for himself?"
Sera's gaze moved slowly across the room, cool and commanding.
"My fiancé is occupied with the wedding arrangements," she said. "As for the ceremony, I want every household to hear of it, from this province to the lands beyond our borders."
She let the silence settle.
Then she continued, "This will not be an ordinary marriage. It is the union of our families whose names were forged through blood, sacrifice, and power."
Her eyes hardened as she looked at them, and she added. "Our ancestors built these empires with their hands, and as their generation, we will not allow their legacy to be forgotten."
Her words fell like steel. The room fell quiet for a few seconds before a voice rose.
This time it's from a business columnist. "Is this union purely strategic? Some say it's a merger disguised as matrimony."
Sera's lips move into the faintest curve, though her eyes remained cold.
"Every marriage is strategic," she said. "Some seek love. Some seek companionship. Others seek a future they dream."
Her gaze held his.
"We seek all three."
The reporters wanted to dig more, but none dared press further as the weight of her authority overpowered them. Even Callum's father, standing beside her, seemed content to let her words dominate the narrative.
Another flash burst, capturing her profile. Somehow, almost everyone there could not feel the mood of an upcoming celebration. It felt more like a big business transaction.
---
By evening, the world knew.
And Callum hadn't said a word.
He buried himself in the high-rise office of Virell Holdings, drowning beneath numbers and silence. Whiskey bottles littered the corner of his desk. Cigarette smoke curled through the windows like ghosts. He hadn't smoked in years since Dahlia wrinkled her nose at the habit.
But now, cigarettes had become a part of him.
He stared at the untouched glass in front of him, the whiskey burning his eyes more than his throat.
"Two days," he muttered. "They built a kingdom in less time."
Behind his lowered lashes, he saw Sera's face again; those calm, unreadable colors of hers were nothing like the woman he remembered. The little woman who had once fought against this marriage with every ounce of stubbornness she possessed.
He wondered when that woman had disappeared. And why the woman standing before him now felt far more dangerous.
He threw the bottle of whiskey on the ground.
The fifth broken thing for the night.
Somehow, there's a part of him hoping that she didn't want this either, that she might run away again, for love.
Thus, he dialed his assistant's number.
Three beeps and someone answered, "Sir?"
"Vernon, can you look for Lior Damare? Before the wedding, you must find him, and if he ever needs help, give it."
"Yes, sir."
Callum stood after the call and reached for the half-filled bottle of whiskey. He drank all night. Letting the liquor burn its way down his throat, as though its fire could cauterize the pain tearing through him.
---
By the time the second night came, Callum didn't make it home.
He left the office in an influence of liquor and unfinished thoughts, drifting through the streets like a ghost in tailored clothes.
The streets were wet from earlier rain, the pavement catching the low hum of neon lights.
He wasn't sure how far he had walked. Or why.
His tie hung loose against his chest, his shirt collar unfastened, and a spent cigarette lay dormant between his fingers. His head pounded, and his mouth felt as dry as the desert. He leaned against a cold stone wall, breathing hard as fragments of memory tried to piece together how he'd ended up here.
That's when he heard her.
Boots.
He looked up.
There, in the dim light, she stood. Her hair drawn into a low, practical knot; a long coat draped around her like a suit of armor; rain pooling in her lashes, testament to the unyielding downpour.
"You were scaring people," she said, her tone clipped yet inexplicably warm.
Callum laughed bitterly as he tried to push himself off the wall, but his legs betrayed him, buckling beneath the weight of his shattered composure. As she reached out to steady him, he recoiled, shoving her hand away with trembling defiance.
"DON'T TOUCH ME."
"Then, don't fall."
He stumbled regardless--- and she caught him anyway.
He couldn't fathom how she held him upright. She wasn't tall, but her strength seemed to be built to carry a man.
He looked at her as she helped him without a word of complaint, as though caring for him in moments like this had always come naturally to her. Gently, she slipped his arm over her shoulder and guided him forward.
Perhaps it was her quiet comfort he needed.
Or perhaps it wasn't her at all.
Perhaps he simply couldn't bear to be alone.
Whatever the truth was, he stopped resisting and let himself lean into her. They exchanged no words as she half-dragged him toward the waiting car. The driver offered a silent acknowledgment as he opened the door.
Callum slumped into the seat, his hand pressed over his eyes as if to stifle the surge of emotion. Sera slid into the seat beside him in silence.
The car moved away; the only sounds were the soft hum of tires on rain-slicked roads and the strangled rhythm of his broken breathing.
Later, when they reached the estate, she helped him out again. This time, he made no protest. At the doorstep, just before the door opened, his voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper.
"Why are you doing this?"
She met his gaze and replied, "Because my father and I made a vow. And I intend to keep it."
"I also made a vow with her. And I also intend to keep it." He nearly laughed, but the sound died in his throat. "But you win, as unlike you, I cannot save her mother. You get the marriage. The legacy and power. But not a child. NEVER."
A long pause followed. In that stillness, something fragile passed over her face.
"I never wanted to win, Callum," she murmured. "I just stopped waiting to lose."
Then, as if the weight had been lifted entirely from her, she gently put him down. Then, she turned toward the darkness, her eyes lingering there as though it might speak. He looked at her as he forced himself upright, his eyes carrying the quiet weight of his resolve.
Then, in the midst of the critical grayness, he said, "Sera, I can help you find Lior."
But his words did nothing to pause her.
The promise, once the source of her sanity, now lay void in his words, a bargain that no longer resonated with her.
Without a backward glance, she walked away, leaving his earnest hope suspended in the darkness.