Was his love ever meant to be?

  Was he destined to bury his wishes, let them fade into nothing, and live a life chosen for him?

  No.

  The moment he thought of surrendering, Leila’s face flashed in his mind—her pout, her defiance, her piercing eyes that held no fear of him. He clenched his fists.

  He would not let his father decide this for him.

  Her address burned in his mind. He could go there, could stand before her door and demand a chance—but that would be reckless. No, he had to be careful.

  Instead, he found parchment, his fingers shaking only slightly as he wrote:

  "Tomorrow. Lord’s Angel Café. 3 PM.

  I’ll be waiting, with respect.

  —Albert."

  Then, along with the note, he took a delicate silver hairpin—one his sister had left behind, something beautiful yet simple—and wrapped it inside.

  Sneaking out of the estate was not easy. Disguised in a simple cloak, he slipped through the shadows of the city, heart hammering as he neared House Number Seventeen.

  The house was modest, its windows lit with the warm glow of candlelight. He exhaled sharply, then with a swift, precise motion, he threw the letter up toward an open window.

  The moment it disappeared inside, he turned and vanished into the night.

  —

  Inside Leila’s Room

  Leila barely noticed the rustle at her window—until she saw something land on her bed.

  Her brows furrowed. What in the world—

  She picked up the small bundle, untying it with careful fingers. The hairpin glinted under the soft light, and tucked within it, a letter.

  Her lips parted as her eyes ran over the words.

  "Tomorrow. Lord’s Angel Café. 3 PM.

  I’ll be waiting, with respect.

  —Albert."

  A sharp scoff left her lips.

  How dare he?

  Throwing a letter into my house? Who does he think he is?

  She tossed it onto her bedside table, crossing her arms.

  But as the silence settled around her, her mind betrayed her.

  She remembered the way he had kneeled before her, the awe in his eyes as he spoke her name. The warmth of his smile, so unlike the arrogant nobles she had always known.

  Before she realized it, she was smiling.

  Her eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest as if to push the thought away.

  "No. No, no. I’m only going to make sure this never happens again."

  And yet, as she climbed into bed, her fingers traced over the hairpin beside her pillow.

  The Next Day

  Albert pretended to be sick.

  The morning sun had barely risen before concerned doctors arrived at the estate, only to be met with the same resistance. He refused to be examined, waving them away with a weak sigh and an exhausted expression.

  His father, though not entirely convinced, was troubled. Albert never got sick.

  So, as a precaution, he sent Albert’s little brother to keep an eye on him.

  His younger brother, sharp and observant, understood his father’s true meaning—Watch him. Do not let him leave.

  And he agreed.

  Or at least, he pretended to.

  Escape

  The moment the clock struck 2:45 PM, Albert was gone.

  He slipped onto his balcony, heart pounding, scanning the estate below. The guards stood at their usual posts—he needed a distraction.

  With a sharp breath, he hurled a rock toward the outer walls.

  A loud clang echoed across the estate grounds.

  "Intruder!" one of the guards shouted.

  Immediately, several of them rushed toward the noise, weapons drawn. In the commotion, Albert swung over the railing, landing swiftly before darting through the garden and out the side gate.

  By the time anyone noticed, he was already lost in the streets.

  Waiting

  He arrived early, slipping into a quiet seat near the window.

  His breath was still uneven from running, but his mind had already moved on to more pressing matters.

  Would she come?

  Every time the door chimed, his eyes flicked toward it, anticipation rising in his chest.

  But each time, it was someone else.

  Minutes stretched into an hour.

  And then—

  The door chimed again.

  Leila stepped inside.

  Albert straightened, breath catching slightly as he took her in.

  She noticed him instantly, tilting her head slightly, unreadable.

  "Oh? You’re still here?" she said as she walked over, settling into the chair across from him. "I thought you would have left by now."

  Albert stared.

  For a moment, he was completely lost.

  The world around him blurred, her voice a distant echo.

  His lips parted slightly, and in a breath, he whispered,

  "You look marvelous."

  Leila blinked.

  A warmth crept up her neck as she quickly looked away, composing herself.

  Albert’s lips curled into a small smile as he motioned for a waiter.

  "Juice, please."

  Leila exhaled. "No, thank you."

  But Albert only smiled deeper, his voice playful yet firm. "I insist."

  "I said no."

  "And I said I insist."

  They locked eyes. Neither willing to back down.

  The moment stretched too long.

  People were beginning to glance in their direction, sensing the silent battle of wills.

  Finally, Leila sighed in defeat, fingers wrapping around the glass. "Fine."

  Albert, satisfied, leaned back with a quiet grin.

  "Miss Leila, tell me about yourself." He took a casual sip of his drink, his gaze soft yet expectant.

  Leila raised an eyebrow. "I am nothing but a common lady. I spend my days—wait."

  Her eyes narrowed.

  "Why am I the one answering first? You, mister—" She lifted a finger at him, brows knitting together.

  Albert, feigning innocence, pointed at himself. "Me?"

  "Yes, you!" she huffed, leaning slightly forward. "Why did you send a letter into my house? How do you even know where I live? And how bold of you to assume I would come!"

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  Albert chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief.

  "But… you did."

  Leila’s face burned.

  Her mouth opened, but no retort came.

  She had walked right into that one.

  Albert merely smiled, watching her search for an escape from her own mistake.

  Albert tilted his head. "Wait… that was your room?"

  Leila gave him a flat look. "Obviously."

  He let out a relieved breath, running a hand through his hair. "Thank God. I was wondering—what if someone else had read it? I realized too late that I might’ve caused a scandal."

  Leila thought for a moment before smirking. "Well… you’re right about that. My father would have been terrified."

  Albert caught the slight shift in her expression. For just a second, her smirk faded into something softer—something worried.

  He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "Why? Is someone like me not suitable enough to stand by your side? Or does this maiden have… different requirements?"

  Leila’s lips curled into a slow, mischievous smile. "Oh? Is that your way of asking if I’m single?"

  Albert took a sip of his juice, pretending to think it over. He tapped his fingers against the table before nodding. "Yes. Yes, it is."

  Leila let out a small laugh. "Well then, Sir Albert," she said, mirroring his thoughtful expression, "I am not engaged to anyone."

  Albert grinned. "Good."

  They both chuckled, the tension between them melting into something light, something easy.

  As the minutes passed, they spoke of everything and nothing at all.

  Leila told him about her hobbies—reading, painting, the occasional adventure through the market just to experience the world outside her home.

  Albert, in turn, spoke of his own interests—how he loved chess but despised the way it mirrored the cold logic of politics, how he once tried to learn the violin but gave up after scaring the estate’s entire staff with his terrible playing.

  Then, with a smirk, he mimicked his father’s deep, commanding voice—"Love is not real. It is nothing but a distraction for the weak."

  Leila burst into laughter, covering her mouth as Albert continued his mock-serious impression.

  "A man should rule with his mind, not his heart."

  "Oh, please, do go on," Leila teased, stifling her laughter. "You’ve captured him perfectly."

  Albert leaned back with a proud grin. "Years of training."

  And just like that, the hours slipped away unnoticed.

  By the time the clock struck seven, their plates were empty, their drinks reduced to melting ice, and neither of them wanted to leave.

  But outside, the sun had begun to set.

  And reality, no matter how much Albert wished otherwise, would soon come knocking.

  Leila sighed softly, gathering her things. "I should get going."

  Albert’s heart sank. So soon?

  His fingers twitched against the table as he watched her rise. The golden glow of the lanterns cast a soft halo around her, making her seem almost unreal—like if he blinked, she might disappear entirely.

  Before he could stop himself, his hand moved on its own, gently catching hers.

  Leila stopped.

  The warmth of his touch spread through her skin like ripples on still water. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned to meet his gaze.

  And oh, how he looked at her.

  His eyes were deep, quiet pools of longing, filled with something raw and unguarded. The flickering candlelight reflected in them, making them glow like embers—soft, burning, aching.

  "Thank you, Leila," he said, his voice low, almost reverent. "For your time today."

  Then, with deliberate tenderness, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  Leila's breath caught.

  A rush of warmth flooded her cheeks, the feeling strange, unfamiliar—too much. She had never been touched with such care before, had never been looked at like this, as if she were something precious, something irreplaceable.

  Her fingers curled slightly in response, but she didn’t pull away.

  Albert lingered just a second longer before releasing her hand, his touch fading like the last traces of a dream.

  "Until next time," he murmured, a quiet promise resting in his voice.

  Leila hesitated, her eyes flickering down to her hand as if it still held the ghost of his lips. Then, without another word, she nodded and hurried away, her heart pounding too hard for her to look back.

  Albert sat there, frozen in time, his thoughts still wrapped in the warmth of her presence.

  Then, as if reality itself had softened around him, he leaned back with a dreamy, love-struck sigh.

  He stared down at his hand—the very hand that had just held hers—and a breathless laugh bubbled from his lips.

  The world outside the window blurred into a soft haze of streetlights and drifting laughter, but all he could see was her.

  His mind painted a picture—the two of them, walking side by side through these very streets, arms linked, sharing quiet words and laughter under the soft glow of the lanterns.

  The thought filled his chest with something indescribable, something so warm it made his heart ache in the sweetest way.

  Smiling up at the endless sky, he whispered, "Oh God… please, make her mine."

  And with that, still lost in his dream of her, he turned to the waiter, sighing blissfully.

  "The check, please."

  After paying the bill, Albert slid a few extra coins toward the waiter—a silent thanks for letting him steal time in this place, in this moment. With a soft sigh, he stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against his flushed cheeks.

  Reality settled in.

  Now came the harder part—sneaking back in.

  Walking toward the gates, he adjusted his posture, smoothing his clothes to shake off any signs of urgency. As expected, the guards stopped him, their sharp eyes scanning him with suspicion.

  "Where have you been?" one of them asked.

  Albert exhaled through his nose, his expression neutral. "Doctor."

  The guard hesitated but nodded. None of them had the authority to pry further.

  With that, Albert stepped inside, making his way through the dimly lit halls, the warmth from his earlier meeting with Leila still lingering in his chest.

  But the moment was short-lived.

  A servant approached him, bowing slightly before speaking. "The Lord has summoned you to his quarters."

  Albert stilled.

  Of course.

  Suppressing a sigh, he followed the servant, his heartbeat steady but his mind already preparing for the inevitable.

  Stepping inside, he found his father seated at his desk, surrounded by books and papers. The candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but his father’s expression remained as unreadable as ever.

  The man barely glanced up before speaking. "Quite healthy, you look."

  Albert’s gaze flickered to the scattered books before returning to his father. He forced a small, polite smile. "Yes, it appears the fever has faded away."

  His father hummed, closing his book with deliberate slowness. "Bravo. That means you will attend the ball in a few days."

  Albert blinked. "The ball?"

  "Yes. The annual gathering. Surely, you haven't forgotten."

  Albert remained silent, already bracing for the next words.

  His father leaned back slightly, watching him with that same calculating gaze. "And, of course, you are to make an absolute good impression on the Bergstein family… particularly their daughter, Emilia."

  A dull ache settled in Albert’s chest.

  Of course.

  He had known this was coming.

  Still, he couldn’t stop the quiet sigh that left him—not loud enough to challenge his father, but enough to acknowledge the weight of those words.

  As his father turned another page, Albert stood there, the ghost of Leila’s laughter still dancing in his mind… and the reality of what lay ahead sinking in like heavy chains around his wrists.

  Just as Albert turned to leave, his father’s voice cut through the silence.

  "Remember, Albert, you have five weeks left for your answer."

  Albert’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn back, didn’t acknowledge the words—he simply walked away, his fists clenching at his sides.

  By the time he reached his room, the rage boiling inside him had nowhere to go. With a sharp breath, he grabbed the nearest object—a porcelain vase—and hurled it against the wall. It shattered upon impact, fragments scattering across the floor.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  He slammed his fist against the wooden desk, sending papers flying, his breath ragged, his mind a storm of anger and helplessness.

  And then—

  A knock.

  Albert spun toward the door, his chest rising and falling, barely restraining himself.

  The door creaked open, and his younger brother leaned in, a smirk already playing on his lips.

  "Whoa, brother… after such a cute date, why are you so mad?"

  The world around Albert blurred.

  The sound of his pulse roared in his ears.

  His feet moved before he could think. In a flash, he grabbed his brother by the collar, slamming him back against the door. His fingers curled, his grip tightening.

  "So it was you." His voice was low, dangerous. "You told Father about my secret?"

  His brother merely raised his hands in surrender, unfazed. "No, no, brother—I didn’t know we weren’t allowed to tell Father. You never said anything like that."

  Albert’s grip faltered for a fraction of a second before he shoved him away in disgust. He turned his back, running a hand through his hair, trying to breathe.

  "Because of you, I have to go through this every single day now. You couldn’t let me be happy, could you?"

  His brother chuckled softly, a dark amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Nice, right?" He tilted his head. "That way, I can be the heir."

  Albert froze.

  His breath caught, his shoulders stiffening as he slowly turned back.

  His brother… his own brother wanted him to suffer.

  "You…" The word barely left his lips.

  Did his brother truly hate him that much?

  He swallowed, the weight in his chest suffocating. He had no words, no retort—just raw, bitter disbelief.

  And then, just as he was about to leave, his brother’s voice rang out again, far too casual.

  "Oh, and about that girl—Leila, was it?"

  Albert stopped.

  His brother’s smirk widened. "To be honest, I don’t know what you see in her. She’s easily replaceable. A girl from the poor side? I’ve used plenty like that and sent them right back to their homes. They never mean anything."

  The words didn’t just strike Albert.

  They burned.

  Fire ignited in his veins, his blood boiling over, his fury turning blinding.

  "You what?!" His voice cracked with rage as he lunged, grabbing his brother again, this time with far more force. His fingers dug into the fabric of his collar, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

  "If you ever lay a hand on her…" Albert’s voice dropped into something lethal, trembling with barely restrained violence. "I will personally execute you."

  His brother only laughed.

  He laughed.

  "Oh, brother… I’m just jesting. Don’t be so serious."

  Effortlessly, he pried Albert’s hands off him, dusting off his clothes with an easygoing smile. "But do keep entertaining me with that temper of yours. It’s amusing."

  With that, he turned on his heel, stepping away like nothing had happened.

  Albert stood there, breathless, his hands still shaking, his heart pounding against his ribs.

  The door clicked shut.

  And he was alone.

  With a trembling breath, he sank onto the edge of his bed, his head falling into his hands.

  He had never felt hatred like this before.

  Not until now.

  Not until him.

  he days that followed were slow.

  Albert moved through them like a man without a soul, his body carrying out its tasks while his mind remained elsewhere—with her.

  Meetings, dance lessons, political studies—it all blurred together. He was present, but he wasn’t there. Every movement felt mechanical, every word spoken was devoid of meaning. His father and tutors did not seem to notice; they simply thought he had finally accepted his fate.

  But the truth was, he was losing himself.

  At night, when he was finally free from prying eyes, he sat at his desk, pen in hand, and let his emotions spill onto the pages of his journal.

  Diary Entry – Day 1

  "It has been only a day since I last saw you, and yet I feel as if an eternity has passed. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I hear your laugh, see the sparkle in your eyes, the way you purse your lips when you try to suppress a smile. You are in my thoughts, in my veins, in the very air I breathe. And I… I am yours. Always yours."

  Diary Entry – Day 3

  "They say time heals all wounds, yet time has only deepened mine. I danced today. I should have been focused on my partner, on the steps, on making an impression. But all I could think of was you. How my hand would fit in yours, how your gown would sway as we moved, how I would hold you close, even if just for a moment, under the glow of the chandeliers. I wonder—if I close my eyes tight enough, will you appear before me?"

  Diary Entry – Day 5

  "I can no longer remember what my life was like before you. Did I ever smile without you? Did I ever laugh? Or was I merely waiting—living in empty days, waiting for the moment you would enter my life and give it meaning? If so, then tell me, Leila—what am I supposed to do now that you have?"

  By the end of the week, Albert could no longer bear it.

  He had thought he could endure. That he could suffer in silence and obey his father’s wishes, let fate take its course. But how could he, when he felt as if he was withering inside these walls?

  No. He would not sit and let time steal her away from him.

  There was still one chance.