The ring box was still in his hand when the first raindrop hit.
Dylan didn't notice.
He stood where she'd left him, surrounded by the soft, indifferent glow of mana streetlamps. The rain came slow at first, tapping against the metal pavement, then heavier—until the whole city blurred.
People passed him, hoods up, rushing home.No one looked at him.No one asked why he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, soaked to the bone.
The ring was still there. Open. Mocking.Cheap silver, already wet, already dull.
Her words wouldn't stop echoing.
You're not awakened.You're not noble.You're not anything.
He laughed once—a sharp, ugly sound that barely made it past his lips.Not awakened. Not noble. Not anything.
The rain hid the heat in his eyes, but it couldn't hide the weight pressing down on his chest. Every drop felt heavier than it should, like the sky itself wanted him to kneel.
A gust of wind rattled the lamp above him.He thought about walking home.He didn't.
Instead, Dylan dropped to the curb, elbows on his knees, the ring still dangling between his fingers.
The puddle in front of him rippled with the rain, silver reflections twisting until they didn't even look like his face anymore.
Somewhere far away, thunder rolled.Somewhere closer, something inside him cracked.
The sound was quiet, but he felt it—like a thread snapping in the dark.
When he finally moved, it wasn't to close the ring box.It was to let it fall.
The splash was small, swallowed instantly by the downpour.
And Dylan sat there, watching it sink, until the street emptied and the rain became the only sound left.
The splash was small, swallowed instantly by the downpour.
He stared at the ripples until they vanished, as if the water had swallowed not just the ring, but the last shred of the promise he'd made.
His throat tightened.The words came out in a rasp, barely audible beneath the rain.
"Sorry… Grandma."
He didn't know if he was apologizing for breaking his word, or for still hoping someone like her could have loved him in the first place.
Either way, the rain didn't care.It just kept falling.
The rain drummed softly on the umbrella above them.
Violet's hand was still warm in his, steadying him as if she was afraid he might sink into the sidewalk. She glanced at him—really looked at him—and the small crease between her brows deepened.
"Dylan…" she said quietly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
He let out a shaky breath, part laugh, part sigh. "Help?"
"Yes." Her voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the concern in it. "I don't like seeing you like this. Just… tell me what you need."
He hesitated. Every reasonable part of him screamed to say nothing, to just thank her and let the moment pass. But something else—desperation, maybe—pushed the words out before he could stop them.
"Marry me."
Violet froze, blinking at him under the pale streetlight.
He gave a crooked, self-deprecating smile. "I know. Stupid. We barely know each other. You're a senior, I'm just… me. But my grandma—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "She doesn't have much time left. And I promised her I'd… settle down."
He looked away, rain-slick pavement blurring under his gaze. "I guess I'm just being shameless. Unreasonable. You don't have to answer. I already know what it'll be."
Silence hung between them, broken only by the rain.
Violet's expression softened—something unspoken flickering in her eyes—but she didn't speak right away.
For a heartbeat, Dylan almost wished she'd laugh, or just walk away.
For a heartbeat, Dylan almost wished she'd laugh, or just walk away.
But she didn't.
Instead, Violet stepped closer, closing the gap until he could feel the faint warmth of her under the umbrella. Her fingers—cool from the rain—tilted his chin up so he had to meet her gaze.
She was smiling, but it wasn't mockery. It wasn't pity either. It was… unreadable.
"Shameless," she murmured. "Completely unreasonable."
Dylan gave a weak chuckle. "Told you."
"And yet…" Her thumb brushed against his jaw before she let go, almost reluctantly. "You really think I'd let you propose to me like that, out here in the rain, without even buying me coffee first?"
It was teasing on the surface, but her voice carried a strange warmth that lingered, wrapping around him in a way the umbrella couldn't.
She adjusted her grip on it, tilting it so more of the rain fell on her side than his. "Come on. You'll catch a cold standing here. Walk with me."
Dylan followed, not noticing how her eyes lingered on him when he wasn't looking—or how tightly she gripped the umbrella handle, as if keeping him within its shelter was the only thing that mattered in the world.
The café was nearly empty, the kind of quiet place where even the clink of a spoon against porcelain sounded loud. Warm air wrapped around Dylan as they stepped inside, chasing away the chill of the rain.
They sat by the window. Water streaked down the glass in silver ribbons, distorting the glow of the streetlamps outside. Dylan wrapped his hands around the coffee cup Violet had pushed toward him, letting the heat seep into his fingers.
She sat across from him, chin resting lightly on one hand, studying him with an unreadable expression.
"So," she began, her tone casual—but there was a precision to her words, as if each one had been weighed before leaving her mouth. "You were serious earlier."
Dylan gave a small, embarrassed shrug. "I told you not to take it to heart."
"But I did." Her eyes didn't waver. "And I've been thinking… maybe we can make it work."
His head snapped up. "What?"
"Not in the way you imagine," she clarified, leaning back in her chair. "A contractual marriage. On paper, we're together. You get to keep your promise to your grandmother. I…" Her lips curved slightly. "…get a few benefits of my own."
Dylan frowned. "That sounds… cold."
"Cold?" Violet tilted her head, as if the idea amused her. "Maybe. But sometimes a cold arrangement lasts longer than a warm one."
She took a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Think of it as… mutually useful. You help me, I help you. No messy expectations, no heartbreak."
Outside, the rain showed no sign of stopping.
Dylan stared into his cup, the steam curling upward like unspoken questions. "You're really serious about this?"
Violet smiled—small, patient, and just a little too knowing. "Deadly serious."
Violet slid a thin black folder across the café table. The paper inside was crisp, smelling faintly of expensive ink and something faintly sweet—like she'd handled it far longer than necessary before bringing it here.
Dylan hesitated, then flipped it open.
Clause 1:This agreement is entered between Party A (Violet H. Varese) and Party B (Dylan R. Ward), effective immediately upon signing. The purpose of this agreement is the establishment of a mutually beneficial marital partnership.
Clause 2:Party B shall not initiate divorce proceedings against Party A under any circumstances except in the case of confirmed infidelity on the part of Party A.
His brow furrowed. "That's… specific."
"Protection," Violet said smoothly, stirring her coffee. "You'd be surprised how quickly people get bored of each other."
He kept reading.
Clause 3:Party A reserves the right to make decisions regarding residence, lifestyle, and public image of the couple, provided Party B's fundamental well-being is not endangered.
Clause 4:Party B shall not engage in public behavior that may cause reputational damage to Party A, including but not limited to: intoxication in public spaces, gambling debts, illegal activities, or making statements that imply Party A is anything less than exemplary.
Clause 5:All joint appearances, social functions, and family events will be scheduled at Party A's discretion, with Party B required to attend unless physically incapacitated.
Dylan paused, staring at the line like it personally insulted him. "So what if I don't feel like going to one of your charity galas?"
"You will," Violet said without looking up from her cup.
"That's… not very optional, is it?"
"That's why it's a clause," she replied, voice honeyed but unyielding.
He muttered something under his breath and kept going.
Clause 6:Party B shall use his best efforts to maintain amicable relations with Party A's family, provided Party A's family extends the same courtesy toward Party B.
Dylan blinked at that one. "So basically, if they hate me, I don't have to pretend?"
Her lips curved. "You'll try anyway. But yes, in theory."
Clause 7:Any disputes between the parties shall be resolved privately, with no involvement of outside mediators, media, or legal bodies unless mutually agreed upon.
Clause 8:This agreement shall remain in effect indefinitely, unless terminated under the conditions specified in Clause 2.
He leaned back in his chair. "Indefinitely."
"Relax," Violet said, her tone light. "It's not like you're planning to leave me, right?"
The way she said it was casual. The way her eyes held him was not.
Dylan let the papers rest flat on the table, his hand still on the edge of the folder. Outside, rain smeared the café's window into watercolor streaks of gray and gold from the streetlights. He didn't say anything for a while.
Violet didn't rush him. She sipped her coffee in slow, measured swallows, like she had all night if that's what it took.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "You've got every possible protection in here. Rules for me, rules for my behavior, even rules for my attendance record." He tapped the paper. "So tell me—what's in this for you?"
Her gaze lifted to meet his. Calm. Steady.
"I get someone who won't treat me like an asset. Someone who doesn't care about my family's name more than the person carrying it," she said simply. "You're not from this world, Dylan. That's… refreshing."
He searched her face, looking for some hint of mockery or ulterior motive. If it was there, she hid it well.
His fingers drummed on the table. He thought about the hospital. About his grandmother's thin hand gripping his when she asked why she still hadn't met anyone. About the way her voice had cracked when she said she just wanted to see him settled before she went.
This wasn't how he'd imagined answering her wish—but maybe wishes didn't get to be perfect.
Dylan picked up the pen, rolling it once between his fingers. "Alright… but if this turns into some gilded cage thing, I'm breaking more than Clause 5."
Violet's lips quirked. "Duly noted."
The pen scratched softly across the paper as he signed Dylan R. Ward under the bold header Party B.
When he pushed the folder back to her, her fingers brushed his—warm despite the chill outside. She closed it with deliberate care, like locking something into place.
"Welcome to the arrangement," she said, voice low but carrying.
Something about the way she said it made his chest tighten, though he couldn't put his finger on why.