The wedding hall emptied slowly.
Laughter lingered in the corridors long after the guests had gone, echoing against stone that had witnessed too many forced unions to care. Servants moved like shadows, careful not to draw attention.
The Crown Prince did not return to the bridal chambers.
Instead, he walked past them.
Past congratulations.
Past well-wishes.
Past the future everyone insisted he had won.
His footsteps carried him into a private study deep within the eastern wing—one few were allowed to enter.
The doors shut.
Silence followed.
He stood there for a long moment, hands clenched at his sides, the weight of the crown pressing down heavier than it ever had.
She stood beside Jin Wei.
Not behind him.
Not waiting.
The image refused to leave his mind.
He swept a teacup from the table.
It shattered against the wall.
Another followed.
Then a third.
Porcelain broke loudly, violently—finally matching the storm he had held in all evening.
"She came," he said aloud, voice hoarse. "She came with him."
As if saying it might make it untrue.
The Prime Minister's daughter—his wife—had smiled perfectly at his side, fingers warm on his sleeve, her presence undeniable.
And yet—
He had only seen Xueyi.
The way she stood calm, composed. The way she looked at Jin Wei—not with longing, not with desperation, but with trust. Yet looked beautiful.
She had been beautiful not the kind of beauty crafted for ceremony—but the kind that lingered, that sank beneath the skin and refused to leave.
The Crown Prince closed his eyes, and she appeared instantly.
The way the lantern light had caught in her hair, softening its dark shine.
The calm grace in her posture, as if she had already accepted a future without him.
The jade-green robes—simple, elegant—chosen not to compete, yet impossible to ignore.
She had not worn red.
She had not tried to dazzle.
And that had undone him completely.
Her face had been serene. Not cold. Not distant.
At peace.
That was what hurt the most.
She had smiled—just slightly—when Jin Wei spoke to her. Not shy. Not eager. Comfortable.
As if she belonged there.
As if she had *always* belonged there.
The Crown Prince's fingers dug into the armrest.
He replayed it again and again—the way Jin Wei leaned closer, the way she didn't move away. The way the world seemed to narrow around them, as though no one else mattered.
*He doesn't deserve to look at you like that.*
The thought came unbidden. Violent. Intimate.
"I loved you," he whispered hoarsely. "I still do."
The idea of her belonging to another man twisted something sharp and suffocating in his chest. The thought of Jin Wei touching her—claiming her—made his breath hitch, his pulse spike with something dangerously close to panic.
No.
He rose abruptly, pacing the room.
"You're mine," he said, voice low, unsteady. "You were always mine."
He stopped, hands braced against the table, eyes dark with fixation.
"I won't let you move on," he continued quietly. "You are mine—and you will remain mine."
His jaw tightened.
"I don't think I will kill that bastard," he muttered. "But now, my love, I have no other option."
The tenderness in his tone made the words more terrifying.
"I will not let him touch you."
Not out of hatred.
But out of love that had nowhere left to go.
He straightened slowly, obsession settling into resolve.
If the world insisted on taking her from him, then he would stand between her and the world itself.
Because love, once denied…
…did not disappear.
It sharpened.
And this time, he would not wait.