They Called Her the Family’s “Invisible Failure”—Until the Duke Said, “Pretend to Be My Fiancée at the Christmas Ball,” With One Impossible Rule: No Real Feelings. But Days Before the Ball Began, He Was the First to Break It.

PART 5

The cracks became more evident with each passing day.

On the fifth day, Adrien insisted on teaching Meline to waltz in the empty ballroom.

“We must appear natural together,” he reasoned. “If we stumble through the first dance at the ball, no one will believe our engagement is genuine.”

He was right, of course. But Meline had not anticipated what it would feel like to be held in his arms — to move in perfect synchronization with him while invisible musicians played in her imagination.

Adrien was an excellent dancer, smooth and confident. Meline found herself relaxing into his lead.

“You dance beautifully,” he murmured as they swept across the polished floor. “Why did no one ever notice?”

“Because no one ever asked me to dance.” Meline kept her eyes on his cravat. “When you stand against the wall long enough, you become part of the furniture.”

Adrien’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Then they were fools. Every one of them.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And you still don’t believe me?”

He spun her suddenly, pulling her even closer, so that she could feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric between them.

“Meline. Look at me.”

She raised her eyes to his and found herself drowning in the intensity of his gaze.

“I am many things,” Adrien said softly. “Arrogant, certainly. Difficult, undoubtedly. But I am not a liar. When I tell you that you are remarkable, I mean every word. When I tell you that society’s judgment of you is worthless, I speak the absolute truth. And when I tell you that any man would be fortunate to call you his wife — I am being more sincere than I have been about anything in my entire life.”

“Adrien.” His name was barely a whisper on her lips.

“I know.” There was something almost painful in his voice. “I know what we agreed. No real feelings. A temporary arrangement. But Meline, I must confess—”

“No.”

She pulled away abruptly, her heart racing.

“Please do not say whatever you are about to say.”

“Why not?”

“Because once words are spoken, they cannot be unspoken.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. “We have an agreement, Adrien. A rule. The moment one of us breaks it, everything falls apart.”

“And if the rule is impossible to keep?”

Meline closed her eyes.

“Then we must try harder.”

She heard him move closer. Felt the warmth of his presence at her back.

“What if I do not want to try harder?” His voice was rough. “What if I want to break every rule we established? What if I want to tell you that these past five days have been the most extraordinary of my life? What if I want to confess that when I look at you, I forget every reason I ever had for avoiding matrimony?”

“Stop.”

The word came out as a plea.

“Please, Adrien. If you have any mercy — stop.”

For a long moment, silence filled the ballroom.

Then she felt him step back. Felt the absence of his warmth like a physical loss.

“Forgive me,” he said formally. “I have overstepped. It will not happen again.”

Meline turned. He was bowing stiffly, his expression once again the cool, aristocratic mask he wore for society.

“I should return to my chambers,” she said. “We can continue our preparations tomorrow.”

“As you wish, Lady Meline.”

The formal address stung more than she wanted to admit. But as she fled the ballroom, Meline told herself it was for the best. They had a rule for a reason. Feelings led to hurt, to disappointment, to the kind of pain she had spent six years learning to avoid.

She absolutely would not allow herself to fall in love with the Duke of Stormhold.

Even if it was already far too late to stop it.

The next three days were agony.

Adrien maintained a polite distance, treating Meline with the same courtesy he might show any casual acquaintance. They still took their daily rides. They still appeared together at meals. But the warmth was gone, replaced by a careful formality that made Meline’s chest ache.

Her family noticed the change immediately.

“It seems the Duke has lost interest,” Levvenia said smugly over breakfast on the eighth day. “How very predictable! I suppose even he has his limits when it comes to charity.”

Meline focused on her tea, refusing to give her cousin the satisfaction of a response. But the words cut deep, confirming every fear she had harbored. Adrien had realized the truth — that she was exactly what everyone said she was. Unmarriageable. Unlovable. Unworthy of genuine affection.

“I think you are wrong, Levvenia.”

Meline looked up in surprise to find her younger sister, Charlotte, watching her with sympathetic eyes.

“I think the Duke cares for Meline very much. Anyone who watched them together these past days could see it.”

“Then why has he grown so distant?” Levvenia challenged.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte said quietly, “because he is frightened.”

That afternoon Meline sought refuge in the library, her favorite sanctuary within Winterborn Manor. The room was two stories tall, filled with thousands of volumes representing every corner of human knowledge and imagination. She had spent countless hours here, losing herself in stories of adventure and romance, dreaming of a life beyond the narrow confines of her own.

She was so absorbed in her book that she did not hear the door open.

“Hiding again?”

Meline looked up to find Adrien standing in the doorway, still wearing his riding clothes. His dark hair was windswept, his cheeks flushed from the cold — and her traitorous heart lurched at the sight of him.

“I am reading, not hiding,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “There is a difference.”

“Is there?” He moved into the room, closing the door behind him. “Because it seems to me that we have both been hiding these past three days. From the truth. From each other. From what we both know is happening between us.”

“Adrien, please—”

“No, Meline. No more running.”

He crossed the space between them in three long strides and pulled her to her feet.

“I have tried to respect your wishes. I have tried to maintain distance. But I cannot do it anymore. I cannot pretend that this is merely an arrangement, when every moment with you makes me question every decision I have ever made.”

“You are not making sense.”

“I am making perfect sense — and you know it.”

His hands gripped her shoulders. His dark eyes blazed with intensity.

“I told myself I would never marry, because I watched my parents destroy each other with their indifference. I told myself love was an illusion, perpetuated by poets and fools. But then I met you. And everything I thought I knew became irrelevant.”

“This is the arrangement talking,” Meline protested weakly. “We have been playing at engagement, and the lines have blurred. Once the ball is over—”

“Once the ball is over, I am going to ask your father for permission to truly court you.”

The declaration hung in the air between them.

“Because I do not want a temporary arrangement, Meline. I want a real engagement. A real marriage. A real life with you.”