— Gilded Misery —
Riverside Residential District.
Late-morning sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains, diffused into a pale glow that softened every hard edge in the room. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, suspended like something undecided.
Seraphine stood before the full-length mirror, unmoving.
The wedding gown was immaculate—layers of ivory silk cascading smoothly along her tall frame, the fitted bodice tracing the elegant curve of her waist before flowing downward in a restrained, dignified flare. It was the kind of dress chosen to inspire reverence, not warmth. Beautiful. Untouchable.
For a moment, even she barely recognized the woman reflected there.
She looked composed, distant—almost unreal. Like someone who belonged to a different world, briefly passing through this one under borrowed light.
"Wowza! Seraphine, you look absolutely stunning!"
Clara circled her with open admiration, hands clasped at her chest as if witnessing something sacred. Her eyes shone with unfiltered envy, the kind that carried no malice—only longing.
"Tomorrow, you'll be the happiest bride alive!"
The words landed gently. Too gently.
The happiest bride.
A breath escaped Seraphine's lips—too soft to be laughter, too fragile to be a sigh. It trembled, then vanished, leaving no trace behind.
Happiness.
She searched for the feeling out of habit, the way one might touch an old scar to confirm it was still there. What answered her was only emptiness.
Damien's face surfaced in her mind: sharp features, unreadable eyes, a presence as polished and cold as sculpted marble. A man who never raised his voice, never wasted words—and never allowed warmth to linger.
A marriage like that could offer stability, status, security.
But happiness?
Her gaze lowered slightly.
And then, without warning, another face emerged—uninvited, vivid, unbearable.
Eren.
The memory came with a familiar ache, sharp enough to steal her breath. The rest of the thought never formed fully; it dissolved before reaching her lips, retreating into the quietest corner of her heart.
"Seraphine! What kind of look is that supposed to be?!"
The abrupt voice cracked through the room like a snapped wire.
Vivienne sat rigidly in her wheelchair near the window, her posture stiff with years of resentment and expectation. Her narrowed eyes fixed on Seraphine with a fury that had long since lost its restraint.
"Do you have any idea how fortunate you are?" she snapped. "Marrying Damien is a blessing earned over eight lifetimes! The Lark ancestors must be lighting incense nonstop in the heavens!"
Her fingers dug into the armrests as she leaned forward.
"I'm warning you—tomorrow, you behave. One mistake, one embarrassment, and I swear you'll regret it."
She paused, chest heaving as she sucked in air, saliva flecking the corner of her lips.
"My future comfort—my wealth—everything depends on that man! Even my legs..." Her voice twisted, raw and sharp. "If this marriage goes well, I might finally have hope again."
Her expression darkened further, venom spilling freely.
"And that bastard Eren—every time I think about him, I curse him. If not for him, none of this would've happened!"
The words piled on, relentless, crushing.
Seraphine felt them buzz against her ears, pressing inward until her chest tightened. The room seemed smaller, the air thicker. She wanted silence—not peace, just a pause.
"Mom. I know. Please—stop."
The plea slipped out before she could catch it.
Vivienne's face contorted instantly.
"You ungrateful girl! How dare you talk back to me?!"
Seraphine turned away, the motion abrupt but controlled, as if any delay would give the argument space to grow. She focused on the mirror again, then deliberately shifted her gaze to Clara.
"Come help me try the other gown," she said, her tone light—too light.
She needed noise. Movement. Anything that wasn't this.
Clara hesitated only a second before brightening.
"Oh, I know exactly which one."
She reached for a gown with a daring deep V neckline, holding it up with a grin that carried unmistakable mischief.
"Trust me. Wear this, and every man there will lose his mind."
Seraphine shot her a look. "That's way too revealing."
"That's the point." Clara winked. "Let them look. Nothing drives people crazier than what they can't touch."
"You're impossible."
Despite herself, Seraphine let out a small laugh. It didn't reach her eyes, but it sounded real enough.
Their voices drifted through the upper floor, light and teasing, pushing back the gloom—at least for anyone listening from afar.
Below the windows, beyond the quiet street, a pair of eyes watched without blinking.
Cold.
And burning.
---
— A Shattered Gaze —
Downstairs, inside a plain, unremarkable sedan, Eren sat motionless in the driver's seat.
His eyes were closed.
It didn't matter.
Through Psionic Awareness, the world above unfolded with ruthless clarity—the rustle of fabric, the laughter, the sharp-edged curses that cut deeper than any blade.
The image of the white gown lingered longest.
His grip tightened around the steering wheel. Metal creaked faintly under the pressure.
"Traitorous woman..."
The words escaped him, low and strained, stripped of warmth.
"So this is the life you wanted."
The thought burned as it spread, feeding something chaotic inside his chest. A surge of impulse rose—violent, irrational, desperate.
He wanted to go up there.
To stand in front of her. To demand answers he already feared. To ask when everything had slipped so far beyond reach.
Why she could stand there in white.
Why she allowed another man to claim the place he once held.
Why the past meant nothing now.
The air around him rippled, heavy with suppressed force.
He shoved the door open, one foot hitting the ground—
And stopped.
At the edge of the roadside, half-hidden among weeds and cracked stone, a cluster of small white wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze.
Unassuming. Fragile. Stubbornly alive.
The sight struck him harder than any insult.
He remembered a different time. A poorer one.
He hadn't been able to buy roses then. She hadn't cared.
She'd pointed at flowers just like these, laughing, telling him they were prettier than anything in a shop. He'd plucked one carefully and tucked it behind her ear, hands awkward, heart racing.
The flower had been simple.
She hadn't been.
And what they shared then—untouched, uncalculated—had felt real.
The anger inside him faltered.
His raised foot withdrew slowly. The door closed with a muted thud.
All that remained was a hollow ache, spreading quietly where fury had been.
Selene's voice cut in from the passenger seat, lazy and unhurried.
"Your girlfriend is marrying someone else, and you're not the groom," she said, almost amused. "Eren... does it hurt?"
He didn't respond.
She leaned closer, eyes glinting. "If it bothers you that much, why not marry me instead? I'm not losing to Seraphine in looks—or figure."
Since witnessing him obliterate a Grandmaster, her interest had only sharpened.
"Shut up."
His voice was cold, edged with something unstable.
"One more word, and I'll throw you out."
Selene clicked her tongue, feigning disappointment, but said nothing more.
Eren stepped on the accelerator.
The engine roared to life.
The car surged forward, carrying him away from the place where everything he couldn't face still waited.