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.

A few days later, afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ciel's Manhattan apartment.

Ciel sat at her glass desk. A thick stack of wedding documents lay open before her. Since Deacon was comatose, the ceremony had been reduced to a small, private event.

But anything involving the Chavez family still came with complications.

A soft knock sounded.

Holly Weaver, Ciel's newly hired personal assistant, entered with a silver clipboard.

"Miss Miller," Holly said carefully, "the main estate sent the proposed list for the groom's escort and groomsmen."

Ciel took the clipboard.

Her eyes landed on the first name printed in bold.

Harry Chavez.

Her brows tightened.

"Madam Eleonora insisted," Holly explained. "She said since General Deacon cannot attend in person, having the eldest grandson lead the escort is the most honorable arrangement for the family image."

Ciel gave a short, cold laugh.

She understood the calculation immediately.

Having her ex-fiancé escort her to her new husband was deliberate humiliation. It would make her look like an object passed between men before the New York elite.

Ciel picked up her Montblanc pen.

She pressed the nib to the paper and drew a thick black line through Harry's name.

"Call the head butler at the main estate," she said, handing the clipboard back. "Tell him Harry Chavez is banned from every logistical and ceremonial part of this wedding."

Holly's eyes widened.

"Miss Miller, rejecting Madam Eleonora's arrangement so directly may cause backlash from the main house."

Ciel closed the folder with a sharp snap.

"I am about to be Deacon's wife. I have the right to decide who escorts me into my husband's home."

Before Holly could respond, the apartment buzzer blared.

Heavy fists pounded against the front door.

Holly jumped and hurried to open it.

Harry shoved past her, his face dark with fury. He marched straight into the living area and locked his eyes on Ciel.

In his fist was a crumpled copy of the rejected itinerary.

He slammed it onto the glass desk so hard the surface rattled.

"Do you think crossing out my name with a pen erases the fact that you belonged to me?" he sneered.

Ciel did not look at the paper.

She picked up her porcelain coffee cup and took a slow sip.

"I just don't want to look at something that ruins my appetite on the most important day of my life."

Harry planted both hands on the desk and leaned forward.

"You're rushing to marry a vegetable," he mocked. "You don't even have a decent man to escort you. Tomorrow, the entire city will laugh at you."

Ciel set down her cup and leaned back, keeping distance between them.

"You may attend the dinner as a regular guest, Harry. But if you go near my escort fleet, I will call the police and have you arrested for harassment."

The word police struck his ego hard.

His face turned dark red.

He searched her eyes for any sign of a bluff, any trace of the desperate love she used to show him.

There was nothing.

Harry straightened, breathing hard.

"You ungrateful bitch," he hissed. "Let's see who is pathetic enough to escort you to a graveyard."

He turned and stormed out.

The front door slammed so hard the apartment walls shook.

Holly stood pale by the entryway.

Ciel did not blink.

She picked up her pen again and scanned the remaining names.

Her eyes stopped on one.

Julian Chavez.

A cousin.

Perfect.

She circled his name, securing a clean barrier against Harry.