The engagement party carried on, but for Lysandra, the world had tilted off its axis.
She excused herself politely from Elias's side, needing air—needing space from the weight pressing on her chest. Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed the glass on a tray, her breath caught in her throat.
> It was him.
That unmistakable aura.
She hadn't felt it in years.
Caveen.
His name alone was enough to unravel the careful composure she'd spent years building.
Elias, noticing her retreating steps, started to follow—but something in her eyes stopped him. He knew her well enough now to recognize the signs: this was not a moment she wanted interrupted.
She slipped onto the garden terrace behind the banquet hall, moonlight washing over her skin like silver. Her eyes burned, but she didn't cry. Not here.
> He is the Groom to be?
Back inside, Caveen stood motionless for a moment, jaw tight. He had watched her slip out of the room like a ghost.
He didn't follow.
But his eyes never left the terrace doors.
Lysandra leaned against the cold marble railing, her hand clutching the wine glass, long emptied. Her breath was shallow, eyes focused on nothing in particular. The night air did little to ease the tremor in her chest.
"Lys," a voice called gently behind her.
She turned, blinking once as Elias approached, concern written all over his face.
"You've been out here for a while," he said softly. "Are you alright?"
She offered a faint smile, masking the whirl of emotions behind her gaze. "I'm okay," she whispered. "I think… the wine just hit me stronger than I thought."
Elias didn't buy it, not completely. He studied her a second longer before nodding.
"Do you want to go home?"
Lysandra glanced toward the hall one last time and gave a small nod. "Yes, please."
They started down the terrace steps, side by side. She didn't speak, and Elias didn't push. He stayed close, his presence grounding her as her mind tried to outrun the weight pressing on her chest.
But just as they reached the bottom of the stairs—
"Lysandra! Elias!"
A familiar voice rang from the entrance. Madeline, Elias's sister, rushed toward them, face glowing with excitement. "You're leaving already?" she pouted.
"We're just about to," Elias answered, voice kind. "Lysandra's not feeling too well."
"Oh no, just for a moment!" Madeline insisted, tugging at her brother's sleeve. "I want you to meet my fiancé."
Lysandra froze.
Madeline beamed. "Come, come! He's right here—"
She turned, and from the doorway stepped a tall figure in dark formalwear.
Caveen Landon.
Time cracked.
Lysandra's breath caught. Her heart felt like it had stopped, then thundered to life.
His eyes—those storm-gray eyes—locked on her like magnets drawn after years of separation.
"Lysandra," Madeline said brightly, unaware of the tremor in the air, "this is my fiancé, Caveen Landon."
Caveen stepped forward, every movement deliberate. His jaw tightened the moment she met his gaze—and then lowered her eyes.
"Nice to meet you," he said coldly, extending his hand.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she placed her hand into his—fingertips trembling.
The moment their skin touched, electricity surged.
Caveen's grip tightened, more than etiquette demanded, his thumb grazing the back of her hand as if needing to feel her pulse—to make sure she was real.
Lysandra quickly pulled her hand away, gaze averted, her voice stiff. "Pleasure."
Caveen's eyes darkened.
Elias, watching closely, stepped slightly forward, placing himself between them in a subtle but clear motion.
"Well," Lysandra spoke again, barely audible, "we should go now."
"Of course," Madeline said cheerfully, oblivious to the tension. "I'm so glad you came!"
Elias nodded, thanking his sister. Caveen said nothing.
As they turned to leave, Lysandra didn't look back.
But Caveen did.
His eyes remained fixed on her retreating form—on the soft curve of her shoulders, on the grace in her every step, on the silence she now wore like armor.
She was the ghost that haunted his past.
And now—she stood beside another man.
The car ride home was silent at first.
City lights streaked past the windows like blurred memories, and the hum of the engine filled the space between them. Lysandra sat with her hands on her lap, her fingers entwined too tightly. She stared out the window, but her mind wasn't on the glowing skyline.
Elias glanced at her from the driver's seat, eyes flicking between the road and her unreadable expression. He could feel it—the quiet wasn't peace. It was weight.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
Lysandra blinked, as if waking from a trance. She turned to him with a small smile. "Yeah. Just a little tired."
"You sure?" he pressed, gently. "You seemed a bit… off after the introduction. Do you know him? Caveen?"
There it was—the question she had dreaded.
Her breath caught for a moment, but she hid it behind a soft laugh. "No," she said smoothly. "I've just heard the name before. The Landons are a known family, after all."
Elias nodded slowly, watching the road again, though something in his eyes had shifted. He didn't press further.
Lysandra turned her gaze back out the window. Her reflection stared back at her—haunted, pale, a little girl trying to hold herself together in a woman's body.
Why did you lie?
Because if she spoke the truth, she would shatter.
Because Elias had been her safe place.
Because that name—Caveen Landon—still burned.
Elias reached out and turned on the radio, letting a soft instrumental piece fill the silence. No more questions. Just space.
"Thank you for tonight," she murmured. "It meant a lot."
He glanced at her again, offering a small smile. "You don't have to thank me, Lys. I'm just glad you came."
She nodded. "Your sister's lovely. She looked really happy."
"…Yeah," Elias said, after a pause. "She is."
The music played on. The road ahead was long and empty. But the air in the car remained heavy with all the things unsaid.
And behind Lysandra's quiet smile, her heart was breaking all over again.