Four hours earlier, right when the meeting upstairs was just beginning, Max and Bell were still standing at the long catering table. They were eating like two commoners who had never been taught any manners. Neither of them cared about the ladies in silk gloves who frowned at them from across the room. The food was too good.
Bell's plate was now piled high with a thick, steaming square of lasagna. The cheese stretched in long golden threads each time she lifted her fork, and the tomato sauce smelled of basil and garlic. She chewed slowly with her eyes half closed, and her whole face glowed.
"Mhm~~~, this is really tasty. I love their lasagna," Bell said. She pointed her fork at the plate as if she were presenting evidence in court. "It's so rare for me to eat something like this. I can't even afford to buy one, because I'm broke. Haah. The irony."
She laughed at herself, but it was a small, dry laugh.
Max had just taken a large bite of his own piece. He chewed, swallowed, and nodded in agreement. "I agree. I really do miss eating lasagna. It's been what, seven years since I retired from my job?"
Of course, he was talking about his job as a hitman. He said it casually, as if he were talking about a job in an office. Bell had heard that sort of thing from him many times already, and she had learned not to flinch.
Then Max tilted his head and frowned. "Wait. Why did you say 'the irony'?"
"Hm?"
"Is it because your family is rich and you're not?" Max put his fork down on the edge of his plate. "So what, Bell? Even if that's the case, you should be proud of yourself. You make a living on your own. You don't lean on your father's money, you don't use your last name to open doors, and you don't ask anybody for a favor. Hell, I admire people like you."
Bell stopped chewing. She looked up at him, a little surprised by how serious his voice had become.
"I really do," Max continued. "Most people who are born with a lot never walk through any hell to get what they want. They just step on the shortcut that their family built for them. But you chose the hard road. You went through all of it, and you did it for the dream you wanted, not for the name you were born with."
He was right about how he felt, and he meant every word. Most rich kids used their status to rise to the top, and they never had to put in any effort. That was why Max hated that kind of rich kid. It was nothing personal. He simply could not respect a person who had never lost anything and never worked for anything.
But it was a different case when a rich kid was truly willing to take a risk. If that person was willing to walk through the same fire as everyone else, to suffer through hardships, to fail and get back up, then Max respected them. He knew it because he had lived through plenty of hardships himself. He didn't care how a person got to the top, even if the path was not fair or was a little selfish. What mattered was whether they truly worked for it with their own two hands.
And someone might ask how he could say all of this to Bell with such confidence.
It was because he had seen her work. He had watched how dedicated she was as a chemist and as a curious, restless scientist. He had seen how careful and thorough she was in everything she did. It was not mere talent, though he would admit she had plenty of it. She didn't depend on talent alone. She had earned every skill she had through long nights, endless lessons, and sheer hard work. She had pushed herself toward the peak of her dreams, one step at a time, and nobody had carried her there.
In short, Max hated nepo babies, the kind who used the power of their family to get what they wanted instead of being smart and wise and building their own path. Bell was the exact opposite of that.
Bell stood there for a moment without saying anything. Her fork was frozen halfway to her mouth.
'He sees it,' she thought. 'He really sees it.'
She put her fork down. Her throat felt tight, and she had to swallow before she could speak.
"I-I see... thanks, Max," Bell said. Her voice was a little shaky, but it was warm. "I really appreciate it. Finally, there are at least two people who can see how hard I work to get to where I am now. Not because I'm an Ahlgrymm, but because I'm Bell. Bellatrix Laurentina Ahlgrymm."
She said her full name slowly, and she said it proudly, as if she were saying it out loud for the first time.
Two people. Auntie Irmela had been the first. And now Max was the second.
Bell set her plate of lasagna down on the table and reached up with both hands. She was smiling, and her grey eyes were shining. She cupped his cheeks gently, the way a person holds something precious.
"Thank you, Max-"
"Wo-woah! What are you doing?!"
Her voice jumped half an octave, because in the middle of her sentence Max had caught her around the waist and lowered her backward. Her hair swung toward the floor, and her heart stopped for a moment. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and her eyes went wide.
Max was grinning down at her. His amber eyes were bright with mischief, and he looked like a cat that had planned this for hours.
At the same moment, something strange happened to the room.
The soft violin music that had been drifting in the background slowly faded away. For three heartbeats there was silence. Then a new melody started to rise from the orchestra at the far end of the ballroom. It was slow, gentle, and full of longing, a ballroom song that made the air feel like velvet.
Max smiled at her. "You know, before my dad died, he taught me how to dance at a ball with my own partner."
Bell blinked up at him. "Your... dad?"
"Yeah. He taught me for about a year, right before my parents died. He was really serious about it. He said a gentleman should always know how to lead, and he made me practice until my feet hurt. He taught me so much that I became a pro at it." Max lifted his chin. "And no, I'm not boasting. You can call it confidence. Anyways, would you like to dance with me-"
"WOAH!"
Bell screamed as Max pulled her back up in one smooth motion. Her feet found the floor, and she stumbled forward into his chest. He steadied her with both hands, and her face turned red all the way to the tips of her ears.
"You could have warned me!" she hissed.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Max stepped back and took a half step to the side. He placed his right hand behind his back and bowed deeply, with his left arm extended toward her. For one moment, the man who had faced killers and police chases looked like a prince from an old fairy tale.
"My lady?" Max said. His voice was soft and steady. "Take my hand, Bell."
Bell stared at his open hand. It was a large hand, with strong fingers and old scars across the knuckles. It was the hand of someone who had done terrible things in his past life. But it was also the hand that had held hers in the dark, and it was reaching out to her now with nothing but kindness.
She looked at his hand, then up at his face. Then she smiled, and it was a smile that came all the way from her heart.
"Will do," Bell said. She placed her small, soft hand in his. "Please take care of me."
She paused, and then her eyes sparkled with a little playfulness.
"My prince charming."
Max's ears went pink. He had made his move, and he had not expected her to say that. He tried to hide it, but he failed. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it.
-KISS!
Around them, a few of the guests turned their heads. A woman in a pearl necklace gasped and nudged her husband.
Then the music began in full.
The orchestra's notes spread through the ballroom, and a soft light fell from the chandeliers. The mood of the whole place seemed to change. Couples began to drift toward the center of the floor, and the tables were left half-empty.
"Ohh, I love this song," Max said, and his voice softened. He looked up at the ceiling for a second as if he could hear something far away. "This was my parents' love theme song, Bell."
"Really?" Bell asked. She looked at him in surprise.
"Yeah."
For a second, his face was open and unguarded. Bell saw a little boy standing in a living room somewhere, watching his mother and father sway to the same music. She squeezed his hand gently, and he squeezed back.
Then they started to dance.
At first, their steps were awkward. Bell was a scientist who spent her days in a laboratory, not on a dance floor, and she kept counting under her breath. Her feet were stiff, and her back was straight. But Max moved with perfect ease. He guided her with the lightest of touches, his hand firm on her back, and he never rushed her. When she made a mistake, he simply adjusted his step so that it looked as if she had done it on purpose.
"Relax," he whispered. "Don't think. Just follow the music."
"I'm trying!"
"You're counting."
"I'm not counting!"
"You're moving your lips."
Bell groaned. But after a few more turns, something clicked inside her. Her shoulders loosened. She let go of the numbers in her head and let the rhythm of the song carry her. Her steps began to match his. Their feet moved together, then their shoulders, then their breathing. It was as if they had been dancing together for years.
They were synchronizing with the music, and with each other.
The singer's voice rose over the strings. It was warm, slow, and tender, and it told a very old story about a person who knew that rushing into love was foolish and could not help doing it anyway. Max listened to the first few lines with a faraway look in his eyes. Then he looked down at Bell and smiled.
"I think this song is right about me, you know," he said quietly. "It looks like I really can't stop myself, Bell."
"Stop with the cheesy lines, Max, geez!" Bell punched his chest lightly, but her face was as red as a tomato. "You're literally making my face hot!"
"Your face is always hot."
"That's even worse!"
Max only laughed. He spun her in a slow circle, and her skirt flared out around her like the petals of a dark flower. When she came back into his arms, he drew her a little closer.
The melody climbed. The singer's voice turned to a river, to the sea, and to the idea that some things in this world were simply meant to be. As the lyric came to the part that gave this dance its name, Max leaned toward her ear. He did not say it. He sang it, quietly and clearly, only for her, in a low voice that blended perfectly with the music. It was the line about taking his hand and taking his whole life, too.
Bell's breath caught. She had not expected his voice to be so good.
Then he sang the final part of the line, the part about not being able to help himself, and he bent his head and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.
The ballroom did not stay quiet.
"KYAAAAAAA!!! They're so sweet!!!"
The scream came from a group of young women near the dance floor. One of them was pressing both hands against her cheeks, and another was fanning herself with a napkin.
"I wish my boyfriend were the same as him... sigh."
The boyfriend standing beside her frowned and crossed his arms. "Hey, I can do that too, you know. It's just that you never let me."
"Haah. If you weren't such an asshole and let me buy that RTX 7090, then I wouldn't get mad at you. Hmph!" The girlfriend turned her face away.
"That's not the same thing!"
"It's exactly the same thing."
The boyfriend sighed, rubbed his face, and said nothing more. He knew he had lost the argument long before it started.
Nearby, another young woman was leaning against a pillar with a glass of wine in her hand. She watched the dancing couple with a flat, tired look.
"Speaking of jealousy," she said in a very long, drawn-out voice, "I'm feeling reeeeeeaaaallllyy jealous right now. Seriously. While some people are dying of thirst, others are drowning in water. Sigh..."
She took a long sip of her wine and stared at the ceiling.
In the middle of the floor, Bell was stunned. She had gone completely still in Max's arms, and her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought he might hear it.
But then a small, sly smile curved the corner of her mouth.
'He thinks I don't know this song,' she thought. 'He thinks he can sneak up on me with that cheesy singing, and I'll just stand here and melt. Well, that's not going to happen. It's time for payback.'
She remembered every teasing joke he had made tonight. She remembered being called anti-social, and being patted on the head like a dog. She remembered the way he had licked her sauce away in front of the whole food counter. Every single one of those memories gave her more courage.
So she decided on a small act of revenge.
First, she lifted her right foot and stomped it down on his left shoe.
-STOMP!
Max did not even flinch. His boots were thick, and his body was tough, so it was like a mouse stepping on a mountain. He didn't seem to notice. He kept dancing with the same easy smile.
'Tch. Not even a twitch,' Bell thought.
But the second part of her plan was much better.
She took a breath and began to sing.
Her voice was clear and soft and surprisingly sweet. It was not a voice made for a stage, but it was honest, and it carried the true feeling of every word. She sang the next lines of the song, about a river that flows toward the sea and about things that were simply meant to be. Her pitch was perfect, and every note landed exactly where it should.
Max's feet stumbled for a moment.
He looked down at her with wide eyes. His mouth opened slightly.
He had planned for many things. He had not planned for this.
Max blushed. It was not because of the way she looked, even though the soft light from the chandeliers made her hair glow like silver. It was not because of how beautiful she was right now, either, although she was. It was because of her voice. It was pure, and it was real, and it went straight through him like warm water.
'She can sing,' he thought in disbelief. 'She can really sing. Why didn't she tell me?'
Then he realized that she was singing straight at him, with a smug little smile, and he understood the whole trick.
'She's paying me back,' he thought. 'And it's working.'
He laughed softly and tightened his grip on her hand. Then he joined her, and their voices met in the middle of the song. They sang the line about taking his hand together. They sang the line about taking a whole life, too. The two voices were different, one low and one bright, but they wrapped around each other perfectly, and the whole ballroom seemed to lean closer to listen.
When they reached the very last line of the song, Max and Bell stopped dancing.
They stood in the center of the floor, with their arms wrapped around each other, and they sang the last words together in a whisper. It was the final line, the one that said they could not help falling in love.
The music faded. The last long note hung in the air.
Then Max lowered his head, and Bell lifted hers, and they kissed.
It was not a long kiss. It was soft and quiet. But it felt like the whole world had stopped to watch it.
For a heartbeat, no one in the ballroom made a sound.
Then everything erupted.
The young people screamed like they were watching a scene from a fairytale. A girl in a pink dress covered her mouth and stamped her feet. Some of the others only stared with green-eyed jealousy and gripped their glasses a little too tightly. And around the edges of the dance floor, the old married couples clapped warmly, and a few of the older ladies dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. They remembered what it felt like to be that young, and that much in love.
Max did not hear any of it.
He pressed his forehead against Bell's and closed his eyes. Her breath was warm against his lips. It felt like there was nothing in the world except her.
"I love you, Bell," Max whispered. He said it so quietly that only she could hear.
For a moment, Bell did not breathe. Then her smile spread across her face like the sun coming over the horizon. It was the kind of smile that made her whole body glow.
"I love you too, Max," she whispered back. Her voice trembled, but it was full of joy. "You don't know how thankful I am that you came into my life. I really am. I'm so thankful, Max."
She thought of all the lonely years behind her. She thought of the cold dinner tables and the empty apartments and the quiet nights spent with only her experiments for company. And then she thought of him, laughing and teasing and holding her hand in the dark. She had not known that she could be this happy.
"Me too, Bell," Max said. He opened his eyes, and they were bright and a little wet. "I thank you for everything. I thank you, and I love you. I hope this lasts forever."
He held her tightly, and she held him back.
And they stayed that way for a long time.
***
Meanwhile, on a distant rooftop on the other side of the street, a figure was crouching at the edge of the building with a pair of binoculars pressed to her face.
It was a woman with long, dark green hair that was tied back by a simple black band. The night wind pulled at the loose strands around her cheeks. Her eyes were the most striking part of her. They were yellow-green, and the pupils were narrow slits like the eyes of a snake. They gleamed in the dark, fixed on the brightly lit windows of the ballroom far across the way.
She was staring at one particular couple in the middle of the dance floor, the man with amber eyes and the girl with grey ones, wrapped in each other's arms.
Her hands tightened around the binoculars until the plastic creaked.
"How dare that bitch steal my Sylan!"
Her voice was a low, shaking hiss. It was the voice of someone who had been holding something terrible in her chest for years, and it was beginning to spill out.
Another woman stood beside her, leaning lazily against a rusty metal vent. She had long hair the color of the deep ocean, and it was shining softly in the moonlight. Her eyes were even stranger than her companion's. They were a vivid sapphire blue, and the pupils were draconic and narrow, with a faint inner glow like the flicker of a lantern under water.
She had been watching the green-haired woman's face for the last few minutes, and she could not stop herself from laughing.
"Hah. Hahahaha!"
"Do not laugh," the green-haired woman growled.
"I told you, didn't I?" the blue-haired woman said. She wiped the corner of her eye with one finger. "I told you he wouldn't love you."
The green-haired woman said nothing.
"The only women he could ever love are Emhyria and Jeanne," the blue-haired woman went on, counting on her fingers as if she were reading a shopping list. "And from the look of it, that girl down there has now become his third lover. Isn't that sweet?"
The green-haired woman did not answer. Her shoulders were shaking, and the binoculars in her fists were beginning to crack at the edges.
"Hahahaha!" The blue-haired woman laughed again. She watched her friend's trembling fists with great amusement, and then her eyes narrowed with sudden alarm. "Careful, careful! I really did waste my whole salary on those tactical binoculars. Do you know how many weeks I had to eat noodles for those? Don't break them."
"Eunice," the blue-haired woman said in a sing-song voice.
The woman with the green hair, Eunice, did not reply. She was still looking through the lenses, watching the two lovers sway slowly in the middle of the room. She watched the man whisper something into the girl's ear. She watched the girl smile.
Every single second of it was like a knife twisting in her chest.
"Oh well," the blue-haired woman sighed. She leaned her elbow on the vent and rested her chin on her hand. A cruel little smile played on her lips. "Poor little Eunice. You literally spent a whole week killing people with amber eyes, just to get his attention. And yet you're still being ignored. How poor of you."
She said the last three words as slowly and sweetly as she could, like a spoonful of honey with poison mixed in.
"How poooor~"
"Enough!"
Eunice's shout cut through the cold night air like a whip. She lowered the binoculars and turned her head, and her snake-slit eyes blazed with fury.
The air around her changed.
Dark green light burst up from the rooftop under her feet. It twisted in the air in the shape of strange, glowing symbols, hexes written in a language that was older than the city itself. They spun and crackled around her, and the glow lit up the whole rooftop like poisoned fire. Then the shapes sharpened, and from the dark green mist, weapons began to appear. A dozen rifles and pistols, long swords and curved knives, hung in the air all around her, with their points aimed straight at the blue-haired woman's face.
The blue-haired woman did not move. She did not even blink. She only lifted one eyebrow with great calm.
"I can only tolerate your teasing up to this point and no further," Eunice said. Her voice was low and cold. She had turned back to the binoculars and was looking at the ballroom again, but every weapon around her stayed locked on her companion. "Anastasia Liliya Masckarov."
She paused, and her lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile.
"Or should I call you by your true name? Melusine, the Water Dragon Princess."
The temperature on the rooftop seemed to drop. The wind stopped for a heartbeat.
For the first time that night, the blue-haired woman's smile slipped. Something ancient flickered behind her glowing sapphire eyes, and for just a second, the air above her shoulders shimmered like the surface of a deep, dark lake.
Then it passed. She clicked her tongue and raised both hands in a lazy gesture of surrender.
"Tsk! Fine, I give up," she said. "You don't need to call my vessel's full name, nor my fucking true name, Eunice. You and your goddamn temper."
She rubbed the back of her neck and shook her head slowly. Then she let out a long, tired breath that drifted away into the night.
"Sigh..."