The grand hall shimmered under cascading chandeliers, the air filled with soft music, laughter, and the gentle clink of crystal goblets. Nobles from distant provinces, aristocrats from neighboring kingdoms, and a trail of fluttering silk gowns adorned the golden ballroom of Haleburn Palace.
Catherine stood by Brooklyn's side, her slender hand resting lightly on his arm. She wore a soft green gown that complemented the depth of her eyes, the lace embroidered with vines of silver thread. Her hair had been gently curled and pinned with a white rose—the same kind her mother once loved.
Brooklyn, regal in his dark navy coat with silver embellishments, didn't let her hand leave his for a moment. He was calm, composed, but his amber eyes flicked around the crowd with a quiet vigilance, especially whenever a servant walked too near or an unfamiliar face appeared at the fringe of the gathering.
Luciane and Sebastian had positioned themselves in different corners of the room, watching. Silent shields. Watching not just the guests—but her.
Christiana Alorsbuth.
She stood by a distant pillar, her crimson gown hugging her like a serpent. Her wine-stained lips curled upward as she watched Catherine laugh softly beside Brooklyn. Her violet eyes simmered.
In her gloved hand was a folded parchment—sealed with wax, then broken with deliberate cruelty. It had arrived just before the ball. The note was now folded neatly, hidden in her clutch.
She turned slightly as Damien approached her from the left, adjusting the cuffs of his black coat, a lazy smile playing on his lips.
"She looks so confident now," he muttered, sipping from his goblet. "He's ruined her—turned that weak little thing into something bolder."
Christiana's voice was smooth. "She's still breakable."
Damien chuckled. "And you still love chasing what you can't have."
"I don't chase," she said coldly. "I destroy what stands in my way."
She reached into her purse and drew out a tiny vial—crimson liquid inside, thick and glistening under the lights like garnet sap. "Tonight," she whispered, "we ruin her."
Damien looked at the vial with mild interest. "Poison?"
"No," Christiana purred, sliding it back. "A touch of hysteria. A bit of darkness. She'll collapse in front of them all. Tears. Screams. Maybe a faint. But enough to make them whisper."
"And Brooklyn?"
Christiana smiled slowly. "He will doubt her. Just a little. That's all I need. A seed of suspicion in a man like him is like rot in stone—it spreads."
She raised her glass to her lips, her smile never leaving.
But far across the room, Sebastian had seen the brief motion of the vial.
He leaned toward Luciane across the floor, speaking through clenched teeth.
"She's planning something."
Luciane didn't blink. "We let her try. I want Catherine to see who's on her side when the walls close in."
Meanwhile, Catherine stood beneath the grand archway as a slow waltz began. Brooklyn turned to her, offering his hand again.
"Dance with me, little Cathie?"
She smiled shyly and nodded.
The music rose.
As they took to the center of the ballroom, surrounded by swirling gowns and noble chatter, Christiana watched like a hawk circling prey.
And from her purse, the vial had vanished.
Replaced in a wine glass held by a servant… walking straight toward Catherine.
The ballroom was still alive with glittering music and delicate conversation when Catherine, her eyes gentle but alert, held the glass of wine a little distance from her lips.
She tilted it under her nose, then blinked.
"Brooklyn…" she said quietly, her voice almost lost under the violin's swell. "This… it smells strange."
Brooklyn, who stood just beside her with his arm loosely resting around her waist, turned his head. His gaze sharpened immediately. "Strange?"
She hesitated, then offered it to him. "It doesn't smell like normal wine. It's heavier… almost like herbs. Bitter."
He accepted the goblet, sniffed it once—and his amber eyes narrowed like blades drawn in the dark.
Without a word, he raised his hand and gestured sharply. A nearby attendant approached with hurried steps, bowing low.
"You brought this to her?" Brooklyn asked, voice calm but holding an undercurrent of wrath like a coiled storm.
"I—No, Your Grace," the servant stammered. "It was brought to me by another footman. I was only instructed to hand it to the Lady Catherine."
Brooklyn gave him a long look, then handed back the glass. "Discard this immediately. And fetch another from the royal reserve yourself. No one else. Understood?"
The servant bowed again, hurrying away with the tainted glass. Catherine stood still, slightly pale, her hand now clutching Brooklyn's sleeve.
"I wasn't wrong, was I?" she whispered.
"No," he said tightly. "You weren't."
Luciane and Sebastian had seen the moment from across the hall and were now approaching, cutting through the crowd with purpose.
Christiana, meanwhile, sipped from her own glass by the pillar, her violet eyes twinkling, watching them like a cat watches the twitch of a mouse's tail. But her smile faltered when she noticed Luciane and Sebastian nearing Brooklyn and Catherine, speaking in hushed, concerned tones.
Sebastian's eyes followed the path of the discarded wine glass, now being taken through the side doors of the palace.
Luciane glanced at Brooklyn. "We saw something earlier," she said flatly. "Christiana held a vial. It's gone now."
Brooklyn nodded once. "We'll test that wine in the court physician's chamber before the hour ends."
Catherine said nothing, but she looked up at him with wide eyes.
He took her hand firmly in his. "You won't leave my side again tonight."
The music continued to play. Laughter still echoed around the room. But for the five of them—Brooklyn, Catherine, Luciane, Sebastian, and Anderson who had just reentered—the ball had changed. It was no longer a celebration.
It had become a battleground in silk and shadow.
And Christiana… had made her next move too soon.
Brooklyn's jaw clenched.
No more whispers, he thought. Now, I give them something to scream about.
The chandeliers shimmered like constellations overhead, their golden glow bathing the ballroom in ethereal warmth. Couples moved like flowing poetry across the polished marble, skirts spinning and boots gliding. And then—
Brooklyn extended his hand toward Catherine.
She hesitated for just a heartbeat, emerald eyes wide as the entire court turned to look. She wasn't used to the attention, not like Christiana or the others who bathed in it. But with his hand outstretched, his expression soft—inviting—Catherine's trembling fingers found his.
He led her into the center of the ballroom. A hush fell.
The orchestra shifted to a softer, slower waltz. Brooklyn's hand wrapped around her waist, the other gently guiding hers. They began to move.
Her cheeks were flushed with nervousness, but she followed him, heart thudding.
Christiana watched from the shadows, hidden behind a crystal goblet and barely-veiled hatred. Now, she thought. Let's see how beloved your little porcelain doll is once she's broken.
The moment came silently.
A subtle snap.
A seam hidden near the waist—one carefully frayed and tampered with—split with a silent tear. The silk fabric of Catherine's gown loosened. Had she moved even a little more awkwardly, had she not been so perfectly guided by Brooklyn's arms, it would have fallen.
Gasps began to rise, but—
Brooklyn felt it.
In one sweeping, fluid motion, he pulled her closer into a spin, his right arm dropping swiftly, clutching the faltering fabric with ease. He twirled her once, dipped her dramatically—and as he leaned down, he whispered in her ear, "Trust me."
Her heart stopped for a moment. But she did.
Still within the dip, he shrugged off his velvet coat in one motion, swinging it around her back with silent precision. When he pulled her up, she was wrapped securely in his coat—modesty preserved, dignity unbroken.
The ballroom went still. And then—
Applause.
They thought it was part of the dance. A flourish. A bold, intimate improvisation.
Only a few noticed the flash of panic that had briefly flickered in Catherine's eyes. Or the murderous gleam that now filled Christiana's.
The music resumed.
Brooklyn held Catherine firmly, not letting go for even a moment. He didn't look toward Christiana. He didn't need to.
She had failed. And she knew it.
Luciane exchanged a knowing glance with Sebastian across the room. Anderson narrowed his eyes toward the column where Christiana stood.
Brooklyn whispered, just for Catherine to hear, "Nothing and no one will ever disgrace you—not while I'm here."
She bit her lip, trembling not from fear—but from the warmth of protection. Of love.
And deep in the shadows of the ballroom, the villainess seethed—because her perfect plan had been shattered by a single, graceful move… and a Duke who didn't hesitate.
The ballroom fell into a dense silence.
It was after the dance, after the near-ruin-turned-revered-performance, after Brooklyn had returned to Catherine's side and escorted her gently from the floor. Applause still echoed faintly, but many had stopped, sensing the change in atmosphere.
The Duke of Faolinshire turned.
Standing tall, cloak gone, golden-amber eyes simmering with something cold and resolute, Brooklyn Harperwood stepped to the center of the hall. The light from the chandeliers caught the angles of his face—calm, proud, and unforgiving.
"Silence."
One word—and the hall obeyed.
Everyone turned. Nobles froze mid-sip, maids stopped in motion, and musicians lowered their instruments. Catherine stood near Luciane and Sebastian now, wrapped still in his coat, trembling faintly.
Brooklyn's voice rang sharp as a blade.
"There are lines no one is permitted to cross. Lines of honor. Of dignity. Of cruelty masked in charm."
He looked around. His gaze landed squarely on Christiana. Then Damien.
"Tonight, we witnessed not just sabotage, but the culmination of weeks of underhanded deceit. Crimes not against me—but against a woman who has suffered in silence."
Christiana's eyes widened. Her smile faltered.
Damien stepped forward, laughing faintly. "Brother, surely this isn't the place to discuss such dramatics—"
"Silence."
This time, it was laced with rage.
"You locked her in a room. You mocked her. You broke her, tried to disgrace her before the world. And for what?" Brooklyn's voice lowered into a blade's whisper. "Because you couldn't stomach the idea of her being loved?"
The court listened in stunned awe.
"I am done," Brooklyn declared. "With leniency. With restraint. With pretending not to see."
He raised a hand and pointed—first at Damien. Then Christiana.
"By the power vested in me as Duke of Faolinshire, I hereby strip you both of your titles, your place, and your right to remain in this estate—or any of my territories."
Gasps burst through the hall like cracks in stone.
"You are to leave this palace by sunrise. Take nothing earned through lies. You are exiled."
Christiana's jaw trembled. "You… you can't do this—"
Brooklyn stepped forward. "I already have."
Damien's fists clenched. "All of this for her?"
Brooklyn's voice thundered: "Yes."
Catherine's eyes flooded, and Luciane squeezed her shoulder.
"You will be escorted by guards. If you resist…" Brooklyn looked at them, gaze icy. "You will be shackled."
Sebastian and Anderson stepped forward silently, flanking the disgraced pair.
Christiana's face twisted with hatred, but she knew. This was no bluff. Damien, pale and furious, said nothing as he was led away.
The crowd parted like the sea as the guards moved them out.
And then Brooklyn turned back to the room. To Catherine.
He walked over to her slowly.
And before the entire court, he knelt before her—not in proposal, but in something far more shocking.
"I failed to protect you sooner," he said. "But never again."
Catherine broke into silent tears, nodding as she leaned forward to touch his face. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I… I never asked you to. But I always hoped."
Brooklyn stood, drawing her close as whispers filled the corners of the room.
Not of scandal.
But of awe.
And somewhere, deep in the hearts of the nobility, a truth had been etched:
This fragile girl no one believed in… was the one the Duke would move the world for.
The week passed like a long, slow exhale after a storm.
Without Damien's smirking remarks and Christiana's poisonous presence, the palace was lighter. The air no longer weighed heavy on Catherine's shoulders. She smiled more. Spoke more. Brooklyn, though ever stern before the world, had grown more gentle in her presence—attentive in ways that made the pain of the past weeks blur into the backdrop.
But now, it was time for another farewell.
The courtyard gates were open, golden morning light spilling across the stone. A dark velvet carriage waited at the base of the grand stairs. Horses snorted softly. The coachman stood by patiently.
Luciane stood in her traveling cloak, face turned slightly up to the wind, her expression unreadable.
Sebastian adjusted his gloves. "Everything's packed."
Brooklyn gave them a firm handshake, drawing Sebastian in briefly.
"You've done more than I ever asked," he said. "More than I ever deserved."
Sebastian gave him a small smile. "You needed a sword at your side. And a little fire. You got both."
Luciane turned to Catherine, drawing her into a gentle hug. "Keep your heart strong. Not for the world's sake… but for your own."
Catherine nodded, tightly embracing her. "Thank you… for everything."
Brooklyn helped them into the carriage himself. As the door closed, he met Luciane's eyes.
"I still owe you," he said softly.
Luciane shook her head. "No. You protected her. That was all I wanted."
The carriage pulled away, wheels crunching over gravel.
Minutes passed in silence.
Inside the cabin, Luciane gazed absently at the passing trees—until Sebastian finally spoke.
"If I ask you something," he said slowly, "promise you won't pretend you didn't hear me."
She turned her head, calm as always. "Ask."
Sebastian took a breath, voice quieter than usual. "If you can't be with Brooklyn… why not be with me?"
Luciane blinked, but didn't interrupt.
"I know you loved him once. Or maybe always will." He smiled faintly. "But he was never yours to keep. And I never thought I had the right to say it—but I love you. I've loved you since the day you threw a candlestick at me for calling you 'stiff'."
That earned the tiniest smile from her.
"You make sense to me," he continued, more earnestly. "Not just your sharp tongue, or the way you always seem to know what others don't. But your heart. It's bigger than you let anyone see."
Luciane exhaled softly.
Then leaned her head back against the seat.
"You're braver than I thought."
Sebastian chuckled dryly. "That's not a yes."
"No," she said, looking toward him.
"It's an 'I accept.'"
He blinked. "You mean it?"
"I mean it."
He laughed in disbelief—genuine and boyish, like someone who'd waited years to be told he wasn't imagining it. Luciane smirked slightly and turned her face to the window again, but when Sebastian reached out and held her hand, she didn't pull away.
Outside, the forest passed in golden streaks of sun.
And in that carriage, a new story quietly began—one stitched not from pain, but from the slow healing of hearts that had watched too many break.
The moon hung low, glowing like a silver coin against the navy silk of the night sky. Soft winds whispered through the quiet palace gardens, stirring the tips of the rose bushes and carrying the scent of jasmine and freshly cut grass.
Catherine wandered alone under the stars, her slippers brushing against the marble-tiled path. She had thought a short walk would soothe her, help her make sense of the overwhelming peace that had replaced the chaos of the past days. But instead, her heart stirred with something far gentler—and more terrifying. Happiness.
She paused at the fountain's edge, tracing the rim lightly with her fingers. The cool marble beneath her palm made her wonder: how long had it been since she'd been allowed to simply feel?
Before she could drift deeper into thought, strong arms suddenly swept her off the ground.
She gasped.
"Wha—Brooklyn!"
He was smirking as he carried her with ease, his amber eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made her stomach flutter.
"Why are you always so startled?" he asked in a low voice, playful but commanding.
"Put me down! This is undignified!" she pouted, trying to wriggle out of his arms.
But he didn't budge. "You're light as air. And this," he said, tightening his grip slightly, "feels right."
Her cheeks burned scarlet.
"Stop staring," she murmured, unable to hold his gaze.
"But you're cute when you're shy."
That only deepened her blush. She turned her face away, lips in a pout as she muttered something about how mean he was.
Brooklyn chuckled. Then, his voice softened.
"Happy little Cathie?"
Her green eyes met his. And in that stillness, the world fell away—the bitterness, the fear, the shame.
Only he remained.
She nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "I am… with you."
He stopped near the edge of the moonlit orchard, lowering her gently to the ground.
The cool grass touched her feet as she stood again, but the warmth in her chest refused to fade.
Brooklyn brushed a strand of hair from her face, then tucked it behind her ear. "Then that's all I'll ever need," he said.
The night said nothing.
But their silence spoke of everything.