The Silver Moon Restaurant hummed with afternoon chatter, the mingled aromas of tea and coffee hanging in the air.

I sat across from Sebastian, absently prodding the cake on my plate. As president of the Art Society and my boyfriend of eight months, he commanded my attention even in silence. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, gilding his profile as he sketched rapidly in his notebook, those clean, slender fingers—the most perfect hands for holding a brush I'd ever seen.


I admired his talent, but even more the almost religious intensity that transformed his face when he drew.

"The Poetry Society was unusually lively yesterday," I mentioned casually. "Did you meet Isabella? The one claiming to be a princess?"

Sebastian's pencil stilled. He looked up, those rain-washed blue eyes meeting mine. "Yes. She spent quite a while at the Art Society. Said she greatly appreciated my work." His tone was neutral, betraying nothing.


I felt a flutter of relief. Perhaps he, like me, saw through this ridiculous charade.

Just then, a ripple of discord cut through the restaurant's pleasant hum. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Isabella—surrounded by her ever-present entourage—strode directly toward us. She'd upgraded to an even more ostentatious dress today, its elaborate hem swaying with each step like a peacock's display.


Her target couldn't have been clearer.

She halted beside our table, her gaze sliding dismissively over me before locking onto Sebastian. Though not shouting, she pitched her voice to carry to the surrounding tables.

"Sebastian," she announced, chin lifted imperiously as though issuing a royal decree, "I've been searching everywhere for you. I've decided to pursue you."

The restaurant fell instantly silent, all eyes riveted on our table. A flash of genuine surprise crossed Sebastian's face.

Isabella, clearly satisfied with the sensation she'd created, leaned toward me, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper only the three of us could hear: "Arya, I suggest you withdraw gracefully. What could a commoner like you possibly offer compared to me?"

Her eyes glittered with threat and contempt.

I set down my fork, met her gaze squarely, and smiled with perfect composure.

"Isabella," I said clearly, each word precisely enunciated, "since you're the one pursuing him, the choice naturally belongs to Sebastian. What does my stepping aside have to do with anything?"

I redirected the challenge to him.

Isabella's expression faltered momentarily—clearly she hadn't anticipated this response. She pivoted toward Sebastian, her threatening glare transforming instantly into a seductive smile.

"Sebastian, agree to be mine, and you'll become Chief Court Painter of Windermere. Money, status, prestige—I can give you everything. Your paintings will adorn every palace hall." I kept my eyes fixed on Sebastian, not deigning to look at her.

I watched his pupils dilate, his breath catch. His fingers unconsciously tightened around his napkin. In those blue eyes I'd once believed shone only for art, I now clearly saw the flicker of greed and hesitation.

And in that moment, my heart sank.