I tightened my grip on the handle.

"You've had seven years."

He said nothing.

That familiar silence irritated me more than an argument would have.

"You have absolutely no right to come up here," I said through clenched teeth, fighting to keep my voice steady."

"Then we can talk here."

He remained in the doorway.

A sharp, unamusing laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"You want to talk?" I echoed, mocking him.

"You disappear for years, and now you suddenly want a chat?"

His jaw ticked.

"I fully expected you to reject the proposal," he admitted, his voice low.

"Then why propose at all?"

"Because the families wanted the arrangement."

"And you?"

He paused.

"I agreed."

"Just like that?"

"It wasn't just like that."

"Then explain it."

"There were discussions."

"Between whom?"

"Our parents. The families."

"Except me."

"You were always going to have the final choice."

I laughed.

"How generous."

"Would you rather I had decided for you?"

"I would rather you hadn't walked back into my life with a marriage proposal after seven years of silence."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"And I'm not interested in answering your questions."

"You agreed to marry me."

"And I fully expected you to have the decency to stay dead to me. It looks like neither of us is getting what we wanted."

"You are furious," he noted quietly.

I stared at him.

"Are you actually serious right now?"

"Yet you gave your consent."

"Maybe I changed my mind."

"About me?"

"About marriage."

"To me."

I stared at him.

"You're very interested in the distinction."

"I have reason to be."

"Why? Afraid I might have motives of my own?"

He didn't answer.

That irritated me.

"You came here expecting me to refuse you. Instead, I agreed. Now you're standing outside my bedroom trying to work out why."

"Yes."

At least he admitted it.

"Then keep wondering."

I folded my arms.

"Does my consent ruin your little game?"

"You don't know what you're walking into."

I gave a dry laugh.

"That's rich, coming from the man I blame for destroying me."

"You are still entirely convinced that you know the whole story."

"I know what I saw."

"No. You know what you were shown."

"I was there."

"So was I."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't mean you saw everything."

"I saw enough."

"Did you?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Stand here seven years later and try to make me question my own memory."

"I'm asking you to question what you concluded from it."

"I didn't conclude anything. I watched it happen."

"You watched part of it happen."

"My letter was being read in front of everyone. People were filming."

"Yes."

"They were laughing."

"I know."

"And you were there, doing nothing."

"That's what you believed I was doing."

"Then which part exactly have I imagined?"

"None of it."

I let out a short breath.

"Then what are we arguing about?"

"Who caused it."

I stared at him.

"So that's your defence? Someone else caused it?"

"It isn't a defence."

"Then why did you stand there?"

Shadric dragged a hand through his hair.

"It was never supposed to happen that way."

I stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm saying what happened to you was planned. Just not by me."

"You still stood there and let them humiliate me."

"Do you know what happened to me afterwards?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I couldn't look people in the eye for months. Every time someone said your name, I remembered that day."

"I know."

"Stop saying that."

"Why?"

"Because you don't get to know. You don't get to stand there and tell me you knew what was happening to me when you did nothing about it."

"You wouldn't speak to me."

"I shouldn't have had to."

"No. You shouldn't."

I cupped a hand over my mouth and drew a slow breath through my nose.

I had expected an argument.

He gave me none.

"Then don't stand there now pretending seven years of silence can be fixed by telling me I misunderstood."

"I'm not asking you to forgive me."

"Good."

"I'm asking you to stop blaming me for something I didn't do."

I looked away and shook my head.

"No," I rasped, stepping back. "No, I'm not doing this with you. Don't do that."

"Do what, Avalan?"

"Act like my pain suddenly matters to you after all this time."

"It never stopped mattering."

I hated the way he said it.

Quietly. Without asking me to believe him.

"You don't get to say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because they mean nothing now."

"Then let them mean nothing."

"You think that's clever?"

"No."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"For you to know the truth."

I laughed.

"You propose marriage and come upstairs to challenge everything I've believed for seven years, and now you're offering me the truth?"

"I'm offering you the chance to question what you believe."

"You already told me I don't know what I'm walking into."

"You don't."

"Then tell me."

Shadric was quiet.

"Can't talk anymore?"

"The person who planned what happened that day wasn't me."

I stared at him.

"Then who was it?"

Shadric said nothing.

"Who?"

His answer came quietly.

"That's the problem, Avalan. You never stayed long enough to ask."

I barely slept that night.

The conversation followed me everywhere, refusing to leave my head no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

Why should I even care?

Why should one conversation matter after seven years?

This was the same man who had girls around him all the time back then. The same man who stood there while my heart broke into pieces.

So why was part of me still thinking about what he said?

"Avalan!"

My mother's voice pulled me away from my thoughts before my bedroom door opened. She stepped inside, carrying different fabric samples and jewellery catalogues, looking far too excited for someone whose daughter had agreed to marry a man she hadn't spoken to properly in seven years.

"You're not ready yet?" she asked, surprised.

I blinked slowly. "Ready for what?"

"For the engagement preparations." She frowned lightly. "His family will be here soon."

Right.

The engagement.

For a second, I completely forgot this was actually happening.

Yesterday, marriage still felt like a decision I had made. Today, there were fabrics, jewellery catalogues, and relatives coming over. Apparently, revenge came with wedding preparations.

My heart panicked immediately.

I forced myself out of bed while my mother talked about decorations, guests, and family expectations. My thoughts were louder.

My mother stopped talking and looked at me.

"What?"

"You've barely heard a word I've said."

"I've heard you."

"Then what did I just say?"

I looked at the fabrics in her hands.

"Something about colours."

"I haven't mentioned colours in five minutes."

I sighed.

"Did something happen with Shadric yesterday?"

My eyes moved to hers.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you've been distracted since I came in."

I looked away.

"He thinks I don't know the whole story."

"About what happened seven years ago?"

"Apparently."

"Do you believe him?"

"No."

The answer came easily. Too easily.

Because if I didn't believe him, why had I spent half the night thinking about what he had said?

By afternoon, the house had turned chaotic.

Relatives moved around excitedly while voices filled every corner of the sitting room. Fabrics covered the sofas, jewellery boxes sat open on the table, and different family members argued over decorations as if the wedding were happening tomorrow.

I sat quietly while one woman adjusted the sleeve of a dress against my arm.

"This colour fits her perfectly."

"No," another disagreed immediately. "Gold would look richer."

Situations like this were never really about the people getting married.

It was always about appearances, expectations, and family reputation.

"Avalan, sit properly," my aunt scolded lightly when I shifted uncomfortably.

I straightened without replying.

Everything about today felt exhausting. Too loud and fake. Yet I noticed the exact moment he walked in.

I didn't hear the door open.

I didn't hear anyone call his name.

But my body reacted before my mind did.

And when I finally looked up, his eyes were already on me.

He stood beside his father near the entrance, calm and composed as relatives greeted him warmly.

"Avalan, come and sit beside him."

My aunt tapped the space beside him excitedly.

My stomach twisted immediately.

I didn't want to.

But refusing would create attention I wasn't ready for.

I walked over and sat beside him, painfully aware of the tension between us.

He was sitting too close.

I could smell his cologne faintly now, and the familiarity of it irritated me instantly because it dragged old memories back before I could stop them.

"You look tired."

His voice was low enough that nobody else noticed.

I kept my eyes ahead. "And you sound concerned."

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

Then quietly, "Maybe I am."

I turned sharply to look at him, searching his face for mockery or manipulation.

But his expression stayed calm.

That alone got me more annoyed.

Before I could reply, his mother placed a small velvet box on the table.

"We finally picked the engagement ring."

Everyone leaned closer. Everyone, except me.

My chest raced in panic as she opened the box carefully, revealing a beautiful ring resting against white satin.

Reality hit me again. This was real.

I was actually sitting beside the man I still blamed for turning my private feelings into public humiliation… I was preparing to marry him while our families smiled around us, as if this were some perfect love story.

That irony made me sick.

"What do you think?" my mother asked softly.

"It's nice," I answered quietly.

Beside me, I felt his attention shift towards me, as though he noticed every tiny change in my voice.

"Put it on her," one of my aunties said excitedly.

Before I could react properly, the ring was already in his hand.

The room suddenly felt hot and small.

I kept my breathing steady as he turned toward me, reaching for my hand slowly.

The moment his fingers touched mine, my body reacted.

And judging from the slight pause in his movement, so did his.

I hated how my body still noticed him.

His fingers wrapped around my hand gently as he slid the ring onto my finger.

The contact between us was brief but dangerous.

Memories rushed back too quickly. The younger version of me who once wanted this ring, who once dreamed about him looking at her this way, came back alive.

When the ring settled properly onto my finger, his thumb brushed lightly against my skin before he let go.

It was a small movement. It could have been accidental, but it was enough to send my heartbeat racing.

His eyes lifted to mine slowly.

And there it was again. That guarded look. That gaze made me feel like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.

"You don't have to force yourself."

His voice was quiet enough that only I could hear.

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"That's interesting," I murmured. "Coming from you."

His expression shifted.

The noise around us faded as the tension tightened between us.

"You still think I wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.

My throat dried instantly.

"Why are you doing this now?"

His gaze stayed on mine. "Doing what?"

"Trying to convince me I got everything wrong."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to get you to question what you think you know."

"After seven years?"

"You wouldn't listen seven years ago."

"And somehow, that's my fault?"

"I didn't say it was."

"You don't have to. You keep standing there talking as though one conversation should suddenly make me doubt everything I remember."

Before he could respond, my cousin appeared beside us.

"We should take engagement pictures!"

The room immediately burst into agreement.

"Yes! Stand closer together."

"They look good already."

"Wait, let her fix her hair first."

Closer?

My stomach dropped.

I stood up too quickly from the sofa. "I need water."

Nobody stopped me—nobody, except him.

The moment I turned away, his fingers caught mine.

I stopped.

Relatives were talking, laughing, and discussing decorations, but for me, everything suddenly slowed.

I looked down at his fingers around mine.

Then, slowly, back at him.

And for the first time since all this started, his calm expression cracked slightly.

"Avalan"

My name sounded different coming from him now.

There was an edge to it I hadn't heard before.

"Stop looking at me like I'm your enemy."

Enemy?

After everything he did?

A bitter smile nearly left my lips.

Slowly, I slipped my hand from his and stepped back before answering.

"You really don't understand, do you?"

His brows hardened slightly.

"You destroyed every good thing I ever felt for you years ago."

"And now," I continued, holding his gaze firmly, "you suddenly expect me to believe whatever story you want to tell?"

"Avalan—"

"No."

I cut him off. Because if he kept talking, I feared I might actually listen.

"You don't get to confuse me anymore," I said quietly, my voice steadier now. "Not after what you did."

He looked away. I couldn't tell whether it was pain or frustration.

I didn't care which. This had stopped being about love a long time ago.

But that girl no longer existed.

What stood before him now was someone built from years of pain, bitterness, and anger.

Someone who remembered every moment she hated herself for loving him.

And if he thought marriage would erase any of that, then he clearly didn't know me at all.

I held his gaze for one final second before stepping away from him completely.

But this time, my heartbeat wasn't racing because of old feelings. It was racing because, after seven years of carrying what he had done to me, I finally had the chance to make him lose something, too.

The engagement pictures felt like punishment to me.

I stood beside him in the middle of the sitting room. At the same time, our relatives moved around excitedly, adjusting decorations, fixing my hair, and changing our positions every few seconds, as if they were directing a love story.

"Stand closer," my cousin complained again, lowering the phone in frustration. "Why do both of you look like strangers forced to take a passport photograph?"

A few people around us laughed in agreement.

I forced a smile.

Shadric said nothing.

"Put your hand around her," one of my aunties said excitedly.

My body froze immediately.

Shadric hesitated.

Interesting.

His arm settled lightly around my waist, careful not to pull me closer.

Why was he avoiding me too?

"Better!" my cousin said happily while snapping more pictures. "Now look at each other."

Absolutely not.

I turned my face away immediately. "I think we've taken enough pictures."

"Avalan," my mother warned softly.

I swallowed my irritation and looked back reluctantly.

The moment my eyes met his, something uncomfortable passed between us again.

No matter how angry I was, my body still hadn't learned to hate him.

The pictures finally ended. It was finally time for a breath of fresh air, but my mother made sure I didn't have that.

"Avalan, come here."

My mother was sitting with Shadric's parents now, a notebook open between them.

I reluctantly joined them.

"We're discussing the weeks after the engagement," Victoria said.

"There are weeks after this?"

My mother gave me a look.

Victoria smiled. "Unfortunately."

Richard didn't.

"There are several family commitments before the wedding," he said. "The Foundation dinner is one of them."

"And I need to be there because?"

"Because you're marrying into the family."

The answer should have irritated me.

Instead, something inside me went very still.

Marrying Shadric wasn't only putting his ring on my finger. It was putting me inside a world that had always belonged to the Vales.

Their dinners.

Their family.

Their carefully protected world.

Maybe that was where I had been thinking about revenge all wrong.

I didn't need to attack Vale from outside.

They were inviting me in themselves.

"Avalan?"

I looked at Victoria.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"The Foundation dinner. Will you come?"

I glanced across the room at Shadric.

"Of course."

Richard observed me for a moment.

"You changed your mind quickly."

I smiled.

"I'm trying to embrace the family spirit."

He didn't look convinced.

Good.

He shouldn't be.

"What exactly does the Foundation do?" I asked.

Richard's attention returned to me.

"You're suddenly interested?"

"I'm marrying your son. Apparently, that comes with family commitments. I should probably know what I'm committing to."

Victoria answered before he could.

"Education mostly. Scholarships, community programmes, grants. You'll see more at the dinner."

"And Shadric is involved?"

"When necessary," Richard said.

I nodded as though the answer meant nothing.

But I was listening differently now.

Seven years ago, I had known Shadric as the boy I was hopelessly in love with. I knew almost nothing about the man standing across the room now or the life the Vales had built while I was gone.

If I wanted to hurt him, anger wasn't enough.

I needed to know him.

What mattered to him.

What he protected.

What he couldn't afford to lose.

And marrying him had just given me the perfect excuse to find out.

While everyone remained busy laughing, eating, and talking about the wedding, I slipped quietly out of the sitting room and headed for the back balcony.

The evening breeze hit my face immediately. For the first time all day, I could finally breathe.

It felt peaceful, or at least it did, until I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn't need to turn around.

"You really enjoy following me around now, don't you?"

The words came out colder than I intended.

He stopped a short distance behind me. "You keep walking away."

I let out a soft laugh and folded my arms against the railing. "Maybe that should tell you something."

He stepped closer.

"Do you really hate me that much?" he asked quietly.

I turned to look at him. "Did I hide it?"

"Then why did you agree to marry me?"

Revenge.

The answer came immediately, but I wasn't stupid enough to give it to him.

"You make it sound unreasonable."

His gaze stayed on me steadily. "Isn't it?"

A bitter smile touched my lips.

"Why does it bother you so much? You're the one who came asking for this marriage."

"Because I want to make things right."

"No, you don't. You thought I was still the girl you left behind."

He rested his hands against the balcony rail.

"You still don't trust me."

"Should I?"

"No."

I hadn't expected that.

"At least you're finally being sensible."

"But you could start asking the right questions."

"There you go again."

"Doing what?"

"Talking in riddles instead of answering me."

His hand left the railing.

"You think I'm lying."

"Aren't you?"

His jaw shifted.

"You really think that little of me?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "You lost the right to be offended years ago."

He went quiet.

Good.

Let him feel something for once.

"You remember what happened to you," he said. "That doesn't mean you know what happened before you walked into that room."

I laughed. "What happened before? The part where I was stupid enough to love you?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Then stop talking around it and tell me."

He looked back towards the sitting room before answering.

"Who told you I gave your letter away?"

I stared at him.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Everyone knew."

"That's not what I asked."

My irritation returned. "What difference does it make?"

"Because you weren't there when the letter left my hands."

I stopped.

"So I'm asking you again. Who told you?"

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because for something I had believed for seven years, I couldn't remember ever asking myself that question.