The silence lasted for ten long seconds.

Only the faint hum of the central air conditioning remained.

Peregrine slowly walked down from the stage. His leather shoes struck the floor one step at a time, each sound heavy as a countdown.

He stopped inches from Ciel. His tall frame blocked the chandelier light and cast a shadow over her.

He bent slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Deacon's name is not a bargaining chip for you to use in a lover's quarrel, little girl."

Ciel did not step back.

"I am completely serious, sir," she whispered. "General Deacon saved my family in the past. I want to repay that debt."

A few feet away, Eleonora's mind raced.

Deacon had an enormous trust fund. If Ciel married that comatose man, Eleonora could use her as a puppet and plant people inside Deacon's estate. It would remove Ciel from Harry's path and give them access to Deacon's assets.

Her expression softened into false compassion.

She stepped beside Peregrine and placed a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps this is God's will, Peregrine," Eleonora said gently. "Maybe a devoted wife is exactly the miracle Deacon needs to wake up."

Harry heard her and let out a furious growl.

He lunged forward and grabbed Ciel's wrist. His fingers clamped down hard, pressing into her bones.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hissed. "You're going to ruin your life just to get my attention?"

Pain shot up Ciel's arm.

She looked at his hand, then at his face.

Her eyes went cold.

She yanked her wrist free.

"Watch your hands, Harry," she said loudly. "Show some respect. I am about to become your aunt-in-law."

The word aunt struck Harry hard.

The color drained from his lips. A sudden, nameless emptiness slammed into his chest. He did not understand the pain, so his mind turned it into rage.

Peregrine watched Ciel's resolve. Then he looked at Harry, who was losing control in public.

The patriarch made his decision.

He struck his cane against the floor again and turned toward the crowd.

"If Ciel has such deep affection for our hero, Deacon," Peregrine announced, "the Chavez family is happy to honor this noble devotion."

The guests erupted into chaotic whispers.

Under Peregrine's pressure, they quickly forced smiles and began clapping, offering fake congratulations.

Harry stood frozen.

He stared at Ciel's profile. She looked relieved.

His heart tightened painfully, as if an invisible fist had closed around it.

He wanted to break something.

Ciel bent her knees slightly and gave Peregrine a flawless curtsy. Her gratitude was precise and controlled.

Her goal was achieved.

She refused to stay another second in that toxic room.

Ciel turned and walked toward the heavy mahogany doors.

The crowd parted for her.

Their eyes followed her with curiosity, pity, and a strange kind of awe.

Harry's body jerked forward. Instinct screamed at him to chase her.

Eleonora grabbed his arm with bruising force.

"Control yourself," she whispered sharply. "Do not make a scene over a woman who has made herself useless to us."

Ciel pushed the doors open.

Cool hallway air hit her face, clearing away the smell of perfume and alcohol.

She walked to the elevator and stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors.

Young. Healthy. Still untouched by years of depression and illness.

She exhaled shakily.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

Ciel stepped inside, turned around, and watched the doors close.

Harry, the ballroom, and that nightmare were shut out of her life.

The early morning sun cut through the blinds of Ciel's Manhattan apartment, laying golden lines across the hardwood floor.

Ciel woke from a deep, dreamless sleep.

For a moment, she stayed still in bed and simply felt her own body.

No chronic pain. No heavy pressure on her chest. No fear of waking up inside that marriage again.

Her eyes grew hot with relief.

Then her iPhone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

She reached for it.

Agatha.

Eleonora's senior personal assistant.

Ciel answered.

"Miss Miller," Agatha said, clipped and superior. "Madam requires your presence at the Hamptons estate immediately to discuss the wedding schedule."

"I'll be there."

Ciel hung up before Agatha could say more.

She threw off the covers and dressed quickly in a beige tailored pantsuit. Simple. Practical. No softness for anyone to exploit.

Outside her building, a black Lincoln Navigator waited by the curb.

Ciel slid into the back seat and watched New York blur past the tinted window. Her heart stayed steady.

An hour later, the SUV passed through the wrought-iron gates of the Chavez family's Hamptons estate.

A maid led her through a long hallway lined with Persian rugs and old oil paintings, then into Eleonora's sunroom.

The room was painfully bright, filled with exotic plants and antique French furniture.

Eleonora sat on a velvet sofa, trimming white hydrangeas with silver shears. She did not look up.

"To avoid unnecessary complications," Eleonora said, as if discussing household maintenance, "the wedding will take place on June 3rd. Next month."

Ciel's heart lifted.

The rushed date was exactly what she wanted.

Her face remained blank. She lowered her head slightly, pretending to submit.

"Understood."

Eleonora sighed, clearly disappointed that Ciel did not cry or beg.

She waved one hand. "You may leave."

Ciel turned and walked out.

As she moved through the corridor, she turned a corner and saw Harry coming from the opposite direction.

He wore a custom navy suit. The moment he saw her leaving his mother's wing, his expression darkened.

He stepped directly into her path, blocking the narrow corridor with his body.

His hands slid into his trouser pockets. A cruel sneer twisted his mouth.

"What's wrong, Ciel?" Harry asked. "Did you run here first thing in the morning to beg my mother to cancel that ridiculous stunt? Did reality finally set in?"

Ciel stopped and looked up at him.

The eyes that once held desperate love for him were now still and cold.

"I came to finalize the date," she said. "The wedding is set for June 3rd."

Harry's sneer cracked.

He stepped closer, invading her space.

"Stop acting. This little strategy to make me jealous is pathetic."

His cologne hit her nose.

Ciel's stomach tightened with revulsion.

She stepped back half a pace, making the distance clear.

Harry saw the disgust in her eyes.

It was real.

Fury flashed across his face. He reached out, aiming to grab her chin and force her to look at him.

Ciel reacted instantly.

She turned her head aside and struck his hand away.

Smack.

The sound echoed through the empty hall.

Both froze for half a second.

Ciel lowered her arm. The back of her hand stung red from the force.

Then she looked up at him, her gaze sharp and unshaken.

Harry stared at the red mark blooming across his knuckles.

For a moment, he looked genuinely stunned, as if he could not believe Ciel had dared to touch him.

Then his jaw tightened. A vein rose in his neck.

"Do not test my limits, Ciel," he warned.

Ciel stood straight. There was no fear in her posture.

"Wake up, Harry," she said coldly. "I have absolutely zero obsession left for you."

Harry froze.

The indifference in her voice sent an unfamiliar chill through him.

"You're lying," he said at once. "You're throwing a tantrum because of last night."

Ciel's lips curved faintly.

"You overestimate your charm. Your selfishness and fake, hypocritical personality make me physically sick."

The words pierced his ego.

His breathing grew rough. He stepped closer again, using his height to cast a shadow over her.

"You are nothing without me," he snarled. "Nothing."

Ciel did not move back.

"Look at you," she said. "Throwing a tantrum like a three-year-old whose toy was taken away."

She paused just long enough for the insult to sink in.

"After June 3rd, I will be your aunt-in-law. I expect you to follow basic family etiquette when addressing me."

The word aunt struck him again.

Pain tightened in Harry's chest, sudden and severe. He did not understand it. He only felt the panic turn into rage.

His fists clenched.

"You are going to marry a vegetable!" he shouted. "A man who can't even speak. You'll spend the rest of your life as a living widow."

Ciel looked at his twisted face.

She felt no anger now. Only exhaustion, and pity for the girl she used to be.

"Taking care of a hero who cannot feel anything," she said calmly, "is ten thousand times better than waking up beside a disgusting hypocrite like you."

Harry snapped.

He raised his hand, intending to slap her.

Ciel did not flinch.

She stared at his raised hand with cold eyes.

"There is a security camera above your left shoulder, Harry," she said quietly.

His arm froze.

The instincts of a politician terrified of scandal finally stopped him.

Slowly, he lowered his hand. His fingers curled so tightly his knuckles cracked.

Ciel wasted no more time.

She stepped around him and continued down the hall.

As she passed, the clean scent of her shampoo drifted toward him.

Harry's chest seized.

Another sharp spasm of pain tore through him.

He turned, staring at her back.

"You will regret this!" he roared. "You will come crying back to me on your knees!"

Ciel did not stop.

She treated his voice like street noise.

At the end of the hall, she pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped into the bright courtyard.

The black Lincoln Navigator was already waiting.

The driver opened the rear door.

Ciel slid inside.

"Take me back to Manhattan. Now."

Behind her, the oak doors swung shut.

Harry stood in the dim hallway, staring at the closed doors.

A suffocating emptiness crashed over him.

He turned and slammed his fist into the expensive silk wallpaper. The wall shuddered.

His chest heaved as he leaned his forehead against the wall.

He did not understand why it hurt.

He only knew the pain was unbearable.