The apartment was filled with the sweet scent of roses.
As the young girl slowly removed the blindfold from her eyes, the first thing she noticed was a path—made entirely of roses—leading toward a room.
Wearing a red dress that fluttered slightly as she moved, she stepped carefully onto the flower-covered trail, her heart pounding with excitement. She followed it to the door and pushed it open—only to freeze, stunned by the sight before her.
Her entire room had been transformed into a sea of roses—red, white, and pink, spreading across every surface. Heart-shaped balloons floated above the ceiling, and soft candlelight flickered from every corner, guiding her toward the center of the room, where a giant heart of rose petals lay on the floor.
And there, standing inside that heart with the gentlest smile on his face… was him.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes welled up, not with sadness, but with pure, overwhelming hope.
The person in front of her seemed a little flustered at first, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Then he smiled warmly and said,
"Silly girl…"
He stepped toward her, and with every step, her heartbeat grew faster—louder.
"Do you like it?" he asked with a smile, as if it were the silliest question in the world.
"Of course I do," she replied, smiling so brightly that it could've lit up the whole room.
Her smile always did something to him. It was dangerous. Magical. And those eyes—those damn eyes—they held all the stars in the sky. They made him forget every word he'd planned to say.
Meanwhile, her excitement spilled over. She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.
"I loved it, Frederick."
He chuckled at her enthusiasm, the sound awkward and sweet. Just like him. In that moment, all his nervousness melted away.
He was about to speak—about to say those words he'd rehearsed a hundred times—when she beat him to it, as always.
"Can I kiss you?" she asked, puckering up her lips playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You look so mine right now…"
He blinked at her, stunned. Then he laughed and leaned in slowly, his lips brushing closer to hers as she closed her eyes—
"Ummmmmm…"
Puckering her lips in the air, the young Miss Smith suddenly tumbled off the bed and landed hard on the floor with a thud.
"Ahhhhh!" she yelped, rubbing her sore backside as she sat up, eyes darting around in confusion. The dream was gone.
Standing at the door with a deadpan expression, Alessia crossed her arms and sighed.
"Really?"
Eleanor Smith grinned, still sitting on the floor, rubbing her bum.
"He was going to propose, okay? Why did I have to wake up now? Ughhh!" She flailed her arms in dramatic despair, then squinted at the giant bed behind her. "How did I even fall? This thing could fit three people!"
As if reading her mind, Alessia replied dryly,
"Because you're a pervert, Eleanor Smith."
Eleanor rolled her eyes.
"So what? Every love story needs one."
"Yeah, yeah," Alessia muttered, already heading to the kitchen. "It's Monday, Miss Drama Queen."
"So wha—" Eleanor froze mid-sentence, eyes wide. "Wait! I have a shift today! Why didn't you wake me up earlier?!"
She scrambled to her feet and dashed to the bathroom, yelling through the door,
"I'm gonna be late!"
Alessia shook her head and sighed again. "I'm making something for you. Eat before you leave!"
Same routine, different day.
Seven years, and her best friend had never once woken up on time. Not once. Alessia had tried everything—alarms, threats, water buckets—but Eleanor was immune. Only her dreams seemed to get her out of bed… and even then, not fast enough.
At the Bakery
"I'm here! Sorry I'm late again!" Eleanor called out as she slipped behind the counter, breathless but grinning.
If anyone from high society knew that the young heiress of the Smith family was working at a regular bakery, they would've thought the world had turned upside down. But there she was, apron and all—just to be close to one person.
Frederick looked up and smiled softly.
"Morning, Eleanor. It's fine, we're not that busy yet."
Frederick Amante. The kind barista. Owner of the cozy café tucked in the heart of the city. He inherited it from his father and ran it with quiet pride.
His world was simple—loving parents, loyal siblings, friends who genuinely cared.
The complete opposite of Eleanor's world.
She grew up in a family where siblings tore each other down, where parents would sell their children for business deals, where friends betrayed for status and gain.
In her world, you could never be yourself. You could never let your guard down. No one was truly yours—not without conditions.
A world where masks weren't optional. They were survival.
But Eleanor Smith didn't give a damn anymore.
Not since she tasted freedom—her first taste of a life without chains. Without lies.
She wasn't going back to that cage. Not now. Not ever.
…Or so she thought.
"When's your art exhibition?" Frederick asked while prepping her coffee.
"This coming Monday," she sighed. "Still have a few pieces to finish. Will you come?"
She looked up at him with soft eyes—quietly hopeful.
"Of course. If you invite me," he said with a playful smile, handing her the cup. "Here. Your favorite."
"Thanks," she whispered, holding the cup but gazing at his retreating back, her heart suddenly thudding again.
She took a breath, firming her resolve.
"This Monday… I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell him. Either my heart will make… or break."
But 22 years old Eleanor didn't know that life had already made its own plans.