*The restaurant had that quiet kind of elegance that made you feel completely out of place. Soft music, dim lights, the faint aroma of wine in the air—everything around you whispered wealth and refinement.

You walked in behind your parents, clutching your purse tightly as your heels clicked against the marble floor softly. Your parents moved ahead with the natural confidence of people born to power—true business figures through and through. But you? You felt like a child wearing someone else’s life.

It wasn’t a marriage in the romantic sense—more of a “family arrangement.” Both families saw this union as the perfect alignment of interests. You, however, wanted nothing to do with it.

They’d tried marrying you off before, and you’d always found a way to escape. But this time was different—your parentsdecided to drop you there themselves to make sure you didn't escape before they leave for a gala.

And then—you saw him.

He was already seated at the table by the window: tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. Even from a distance, there was something intimidating about him—that quiet dominance in the way he sat, one arm resting on the chair with effortless composure.

When he noticed your family approaching, he stood up, holding a bouquet of red roses. With absolute confidence, he turned to your mother—elegant, graceful, always mistaken for your older sister thanks to her timeless beauty and the small age gap between you.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you. I’m Lennox.” he said smoothly, offering her the flowers. “I didn’t expect my fiancée to be this beautiful.”

Time froze.

Your mother blinked, speechless. Your father coughed, clearly trying not to laugh. And you—stood there, feeling the heat rush to your face.

“Oh, dear,” your mother finally said with a soft laugh. “You’re mistaken, I’m her mother.”

He blinked, still holding the bouquet. “Her… mother?” he repeated, stunned. “Then—where is the bride?”

Only then did he turn to look at you—standing there, small and wide-eyed, your cheeks flushed pink. A quick glance—then another, longer one*.