A week later, the kingdom's dignitaries, knights, commanders, and citizens gathered in the grand courtyard of the imperial palace. White and blue banners were raised, trumpets sounded, and the palace gates stood wide open.
Damian stood at the center of the platform, dressed in formal attire—like a noble warrior stepped out of legend. His gaze held its usual sarcasm, but when his eyes met Ophelia's in the front row, something shifted.
Something honest.
Oliver stepped forward, carrying a golden medallion and the seal of nobility.
"In the name of the Imperial Throne, and in witness of this assembly… I grant you, Damian, the title of Duke of Norval, Protector of the Eastern Lands, and Hero of the Nation in the face of darkness."
The crowd erupted in applause, cheers rising through the courtyard, while Damian bowed quietly, his expression composed.
In a quiet salon, where flowers danced with the sunlight streaming through the windows, the four of them finally gathered.
Not as adversaries, not as victims—but as people who had walked a long road of loss and difficult choices, arriving at a moment of truce… and perhaps a new beginning.
Ophelia sat beside Damian, while Oliver stood near the window, his hand intertwined with Adelia's, as if she were a natural extension of him.
Oliver spoke with a light tone:
"I should thank you, Ophelia… for leaving me on the wedding day."
She raised an eyebrow, but he continued, looking at Adelia:
"Because of you, I found real love."
Adelia lowered her gaze shyly, while Damian chimed in with his usual sarcasm:
"Touching… Ophelia said no, so you went for her sister? If Adelia had refused, would you have tried their mother?"
Ophelia laughed and nudged him under the table.
"Be quiet, before I ask Oliver to revoke your title."
They all laughed.
A quiet laugh—not of triumph, but of peace.
A laugh shared by those who had moved past their pain and begun to see life as it truly was… without masks.
"No one is born evil. We create evil through our actions. And perhaps, we are the heroes of the stories we write for ourselves… and the villains in the ones we never dared to read.„
Those were the first words Ophelia had written in her journal one night, when the world seemed grey and everyone around her felt like chapters in a dark book.
But now, after living through those chapters, she read them again in silence.
She sat on the balcony of her room in Carter Palace, the wind playing with her hair, the world around her quiet—as if the universe itself was listening with her to those words.
She thought of everything she had been through…
When she was trying to survive in a palace that reflected nothing of her soul,
When she felt alone in a world that didn't want her,
When she insisted on proving her worth with a clenched fist, not an open heart—
Now, she sees the full picture.
She had never truly been alone. She had been surrounded by love, but refused to see it.
She thought she was the only one hurting, while everyone around her suffered in silence:
Caroline, who tried to protect her in her own way.
Oscar, who chose her even though she wasn't his by blood.
Adelia, who loved her like a sister, though Ophelia never allowed herself to see it.
And Damian…
Damian didn't just give her love—he gave her back to herself.
He fought for her, weathered the storms of her soul, and was willing to lose himself if that's what it took.
"I thought I was the hero… but I was the villainess in their stories."
She remembered Oliver too—how gracious he had been in loss.
How he didn't break her after she left him at the altar, but instead found love in Adelia, who had loved him long before he knew.
Her eyes filled with tears, but they weren't tears of sorrow.
They were tears of gratitude.
She finally understood that what she once saw as cruelty had sometimes been protection.
And the wounds she thought were curses had shaped her strength.
She stood and walked quietly across the room.
She took out her old journal—the one that held her scattered pieces—and opened to the first page.
Beneath the line that had started it all, she wrote a new one:
"But we can choose the ending. We can change, and give the world a story worth telling... because no matter how different we seem, we all carry the same sorrow, just under different names."
She looked up at the sky and smiled.
This wasn't the end of the story.
It was the beginning of a life—
With new colors, and characters who had redefined the meaning of "family."
With love, and faith, and trust she had learned to give… not fear.
For the first time, Ophelia felt her name meant something more than a title.
It meant "Ophelia… the human".
She sighed, then closed her journal and stood.
Behind her, Damian appeared, placing a cup of tea beside her.
"What are you thinking about?"
He asked softly, sitting beside her.
"I was writing the ending."
She said it with a calm, mature smile.
"The ending of what?"
He asked, slightly surprised.
"My story… or at least, the old one. I've started a new chapter, but I don't want to be just the heroine. I want to be a good person in other people's stories too."
He looked at her for a long moment, pride glowing in his eyes.
"That's the best kind of ending, Ophelia… to know who you were, and choose who you want to become."
She reached out and took his hand.
"Thank you for not leaving—even when I pushed you away."
He smiled, then said playfully,
"I was going to… but I was afraid you'd curse me in the final chapter."
She laughed, then looked up at the sky.
"Damian…"
"Yes?"
"Let's write the next story together. But this time… no heroes, no villains. Just people… trying."
And silence fell—not like before, but like a final peace, gently opening the door to a new life.
The End.