Tomorrow night finally came.

And somehow, I was still here, standing in the middle of my living room, wearing a three-piece navy suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. It was sleek, sharp, and far too comfortable to be anything I could've afforded on my own. Val had picked it up last night, saying it was "for the party." I hadn't realized she meant this kind of suit — the kind that looked like it came with a manual on how to breathe properly in it.

I tugged lightly on the cufflinks, the faint silver glint catching the light. My reflection in the mirror looked like someone else, someone polished, put together, and entirely out of his depth.

Half of me was thinking of changing into something simpler — or better yet, faking a sudden illness. The other half… well, the other half was just trying to breathe.

Then the door opened, and everything — the panic, the second-guessing, the quiet dread — disappeared like mist under sunlight.

She walked out, and I forgot how to think.

Her gown was a deep wine red, silk that shimmered when she moved, hugging her figure before flowing effortlessly with every step. Her hair, loose and wavy, fell like down her back. The light caught the delicate jewelry on her neck — simple, understated, and yet somehow regal.

I'd seen her in every form imaginable: messy bun and pajamas, sweatshirts and glasses, oversized hoodie stealing my warmth. But this? This was something else entirely. This was the woman the world saw when they whispered her name with reverence — Celestia Valentina Moreau.

She tilted her head, and her hair slid to one side as she asked softly, "How do I look?"

For a moment, I couldn't find words. Then I smiled — the only kind of smile she could drag out of me, the helpless kind — and said, "Perfect."

Her lips curved into a smile as she crossed the room, each step graceful, deliberate. When she reached me, she rose slightly on her toes and adjusted my bow tie, her fingers brushing against my collarbone.

"Thank you for going with me," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

I looked down at her, at the way she always managed to sound both confident and fragile in the same breath, and murmured, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Even if I might regret saying that in two hours."

She laughed quietly, the kind that could've made anyone fall in love with her if they weren't already too far gone.

When she pulled back, I caught her wrist gently. "You're sure it's okay that we're leaving this late?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be there already? You know, being a Moreau and all?"

She gave a small shrug, eyes sparkling with mischief. "They'll survive without me for a bit. Besides, I'd rather walk in with you.

Her tone made it sound like everything was under control, but I could tell from the flicker in her expression that she wasn't entirely sure either. Still, she made it sound okay. And that was enough.

Before I could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed me. "It's going to be okay," she whispered against my lips.

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. "You some kind of mind reader now or what?"

She arched a brow. "Like you're not already aware?"

"Touché," I said, smiling despite myself.

Her hand came up, resting lightly against my cheek. "I'll be by your side all night, okay?"

The way she said it, quiet, steady, full of a promise she didn't have to make, made something inside me just… eased.

I met her eyes and said simply. "Okay,"

And just like that, the storm inside my chest settled.

At least until we pulled up outside the Moreau mansion.

Because that was when every ounce of calm she'd built in me shattered in one breath.

The gates weren't new to me, I'd been here before. But tonight, they felt different. Maybe it was the sheer number of cars lined up along the driveway, engines purring like a parade of wealth. Or maybe it was the sight of suited guards at every corner or even the faint glimmer of chandeliers spilling through the tall windows.

Whatever it was, it hit me fast — this wasn't just another ordinary party, this was the Moreau party. And suddenly, all the courage I thought I had started feeling very temporary.

Val reached over and rested her hand on mine. "Hey," she said softly.

I looked at her.

Her smile was small, reassuring — the kind that didn't try to fix the fear, just reminded me I wasn't alone in it.

And for a second, that was enough to breathe again.

Still, as I stepped out of the car and looked up at the glittering mansion that could probably host a small nation's summit, I couldn't help the thought that slipped through my head —

I should've faked the illness.

---

We walked in together, and if the outside had chipped away at my courage, the inside buried it.

The grand ballroom was a living postcard — chandeliers glittering above, laughter and the low hum of violins weaving through the air. Tables arranged with precision, waiters gliding past with trays of champagne. Every face seemed polished and practiced. I caught glimpses of CEOs, diplomats, and faces I'd only ever seen on the news.

Yeah. Definitely not my crowd.

"Ah," a familiar voice called from across the room. "If it isn't my favorite brother-in-law."

Lucien Davis Moreau appeared from nowhere, grinning as he pulled me into a quick, friendly hug. And just like that, some of the tension in my chest eased.

"At least I've got one ally," I muttered.

Lucien chuckled and gave Val a knowing look, one that silently asked, You sure about this? She just smiled.

Then he turned back to me, lowering his voice playfully. "If things start going south, just call me. I'll cause a distraction. Maybe set something on fire. Or punch a politician. Whichever works faster."

I laughed despite myself. "Good to know I've got options."

The comfort didn't last long. Because right then, I heard a voice that froze the air around us.

"Celestia."

Mr. Charlie George Moreau, Val's dad.

He stood across the room, surrounded by a cluster of powerful-looking men, the kind of men who owned skyscrapers and smiled like they knew it.

Val looked at me. I nodded, starting to let go of her hand, but she held on tighter instead and led the way forward. My pulse was a full drumline now.

When we reached them, her father smiled the kind of smile that didn't quite touch his eyes. "You've already met Lucien," he said to the men. "And this is my daughter, Celestia — the one with the very high GPA I told you about."

One of them — tall, polished, the type who probably invested in oil — said, "I heard you're doing your master's at LSE?"

Val nodded politely. "Yes, sir. I just started the term."

"And him?" another asked, eyes flicking toward me.

Charlie hesitated for half a second, just long enough for me to feel it. "He's…"

"My boyfriend," Val cut in, voice calm but firm.

A silence hung in the air for a beat before her father gave a small, dismissive chuckle. "Unfortunately so. But you know how kids are, everyone wants a little fun before they fully grow up."

The men laughed. The kind of laugh that stung.

Val's jaw tightened, but before she could say anything, I gave her hand a light squeeze. She looked up at me, and I shook my head slightly without saying a word but I knew she heard it — Don't.

I could take the hit. The last thing I wanted was to make this night worse for her.

When we finally moved away and found a quiet seat near the edge of the room, she turned to me immediately. "I'm sorry about my dad," she said quietly. "He's just always—"

"Hey," I interrupted, smiling faintly. "I'm not upset."

She looked at me, and I knew she could tell I was lying. But she didn't call me out on it.

An hour passed. Between polite smiles, handshakes, and small talk I barely remembered, I started to relax again, mostly because she never left my side.

Until her mother called her over.

Val glanced at me apologetically.

I forced a small grin. "Go. I'll be here."

She hesitated, then nodded and walked toward her mother.

That was when the silence started to feel too loud. I sipped at my drink, pretended to check my phone, and tried not to look as out of place as I felt.

But then I saw him.

Bradley Sinclair.

Standing beside Val's mother, who was laughing softly with another woman. And there he was, the same smug grin, the same polished arrogance.

I didn't need context. I'd seen this play before — Val's mother trying, again, to push him into her orbit.

And even though I knew her smiles were nothing more than politeness — a careful act to avoid making a scene — it still hit like a slow punch to the chest.

Because no matter how much I told myself it didn't matter, a small part of me whispered that it did. That maybe I'd never really be enough in their world.

So I got up and slipped out into the garden.

The night air was cold, clean, quiet, the kind that filled your lungs and your head at once. I could still hear the faint echo of violins and laughter, but out here, it sounded distant. Manageable.

I leaned against the railing, watching the lights shimmer across the pond. A girl walked by, dragging her boyfriend toward the ballroom. "Come on," she said, giggling. "Let's dance!"

I exhaled, smiling faintly to myself. "Of course," I muttered. "Let's dance."

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" a voice said behind me.

I turned.

Val stood there, her expression soft, her eyes searching mine.

"Yeah," I said. "The garden looks amazing." I tried to sound casual, maybe even sarcastic. Anything to cover up what I really felt.

She stepped closer, studying me like she could see right through the act. Then, instead of calling me out, she just smiled gently and said, "Can I have this dance, Mr. Tanaka?"

I let out a quiet laugh. "You're serious?"

"Deadly," she said, offering her hand.

So I took it.

She guided me closer, her other hand finding my shoulder as mine settled at her waist. We moved slowly, just swaying to the faint music drifting from inside. For a while, neither of us said a word.

Then, still resting her head near my chest, she whispered, "I love you more than words can describe. And nothing's ever going to change that. Don't ever forget it, okay?"

I smiled, feeling something in me loosen. "Love you too."

Fireworks suddenly bloomed above the mansion, painting the sky in streaks of gold and red. She pulled back just enough to kiss me softly, then murmured against my lips, "Merry Christmas, husband."

The words melted everything — the anger, the sadness, the doubt — until there was just her.

I smiled. "Merry Christmas… wife."

She smiled, eyes glimmering, and rested her head against my chest again as we swayed.

The fireworks faded. The music softened. The cold disappeared.

And for a moment, everything felt perfect.

Too perfect.

But now, when I look back, I can see it — the cracks hiding beneath the lights.

It was never the distance.

Or the pressure.

Or Avery or Tasha.

It wasn't even the things left unsaid.

It was this — her family, her world, and the unspoken truth that no matter how close we stood, there was still a line between us.

I should've seen it that night — the night everything shined.

---

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