Between Love and Divorce

Chapter 1

On the day of their arranged marriage, Edmund Vance flew to Southland, leaving for three long years.
On his return flight, he instructed his secretary to draft a divorce agreement and settle compensation.
Edmund Vance stepped into Isabella Ward's dance studio with the divorce papers in hand.
Isabella Ward was lost in the music, dancing in lace straps and shorts, a billowing white fabric tied around her waist. Her movements swung between strong and graceful, enchanting in their rhythm.
As she finished, a group of young male dancers from Young Adonis surrounded her, showering her with compliments.
One curious boy asked, "Ms. Ward, is it true you dropped a diamond ring from your bag? Did you get married?"
Isabella casually tossed the ring back into her bag, wiping sweat from her brow. "Not anymore. I'm widowed."
Outside the dance studio, Edmund Vance felt a surge of emotion.
# Dancing is better than love; really, it's far better than love.#
# I won't get a divorce. I love my wife until the end of time.#
"I mistook a sparrow for a house bird, unaware it was a hawk soaring the skies."
(A romance that develops after marriage, light-hearted and without pretense)
**One-liner:** Is the male lead in for a shock today?
**Theme:** Breaking free from fate's chains to bravely be oneself.
**Categories:** Unrequited love, elite status, sweet romance.
**Keywords:** Characters: Edmund Vance, Isabella Ward ┃ Supporting Characters: ┃ Others:
==================
**A Glance**
Brandenburg Airfield, near Berlin.
Amid the bustling terminal, announcements were made in both German and English. A group of Asian girl group members hurried through the tall European crowd, making their way to the boarding gate.
They were just in time for their flight from Berglon to Sovereign City. Any later, and they would have missed the gate closing.
Standing at the entrance of the airplane, a flight attendant silently counted passengers. They were still waiting for one more person in first class and peered out, hoping to spot them.
The sun gleamed on the tarmac, making the concrete gleam like a vast white desert. A woman stood alone beneath the plane.
She wore a black cap and an outfit similar to the girl group members: a large denim jacket over cargo pants, yet her emaciated frame was hard to miss.
If the wind picked up a bit more, she could’ve easily taken flight.
Isabella Ward stood near the plane, a slender, pale wrist emerging from her coat sleeve as she pressed her phone to her ear. "The flight is on schedule; I'll deal with things back home later. I’m boarding now."
On the other end was the group’s manager. This newly-formed girl group faced a whirlwind of chaos with both their internal and external affairs.
The manager and assistant had been abruptly called back home, leaving the five newly-turned eighteen-year-olds in Isabella’s temporary care.
At that age, all these girls tend to be a bit reckless, and without their manager and assistant around, last night surely got wild.
They all overslept today, nearly missing their flight.
Knowing her artists were a handful, the manager's voice sounded embarrassed through the phone. "Thank you so much, Ms. Ward. Let us treat you to dinner when you come back."
“No need to be so formal,” Isabella smiled, hanging up just as she stepped onto the jet bridge.
The attendant greeted her with a polite smile, welcoming her in English.
Isabella looked up in response, and the attendant finally caught a glimpse of her beauty beneath the cap.
With a classic oval face, porcelain skin, willow-like brows, and bright, glistening eyes, Isabella Ward cut a striking figure. A small red mole danced at the edge of her eye, almost as if it had a story to tell.
Isabella caught the young attendant’s curious, blue gaze for a second, then smiled before continuing down the aisle.
Behind her, the attendant watched in confusion as the seemingly frail woman walked with an unmistakable confidence.
The flight was decorated in soothing shades, with cream leather seats and light beige pillows. Isabella had barely walked a few steps when her gaze fell on a crisply ironed white suit that broke her focus.
Edmund Vance had that effect on people; it was difficult not to notice him, regardless of the setting.
As she glanced over, she caught sight of Edmund leaning back in his seat, slightly tilting his head towards a man sitting beside him, deep in what appeared to be a serious business discussion.
He sat there, exuding a chill like the air conditioning.
In this foreign land, Isabella hadn’t anticipated running into Edmund Vance here.
She only spared him a fleeting glance, her footsteps unwavering as she focused down on the boarding pass reading 3C.
Right behind Edmund Vance.
With calm determination, Isabella slid into the seat directly behind him, ignoring the urge to greet him.
To characterize her relationship with Edmund was complex; though they were legally married, their intimacy was nonexistent.
The photo on their marriage license had been digitally manipulated by the House of Vance, and neither had attended the ceremony, yet they were indeed legally bound as husband and wife.
But acknowledging any sense of closeness felt absurd; they hadn’t seen each other in three years.
For those three years, Edmund had been in Southland, only occasionally heard of, but always missing from Sovereign City.
Today, the weather in Berglon was splendid, a bright clear blue.
Since she wasn’t about to put on a tearful reunion act, Isabella comfortably settled back in her chair, sliding on the oversized sunglasses resting on her jacket.
The glasses veiled almost half her face, blocking the blinding sunlight filtering through the airplane window.
With time still before takeoff, she popped in her earbuds and closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of dance music flow, searching for inspiration for choreography in her mind.
Suddenly, a call jolted her; she startled, her eyes narrowing behind the glasses.
It was her childhood best friend, Roderick Faulkner.
This girl, named with an elegant title, was currently busy in medical studies, researching a particular male organ's diseases and treatments. She hardly had time to chat leisurely with Isabella.

Chapter 2

As soon as Isabella Ward picked up the phone, Roderick Faulkner's urgent voice burst through the receiver. “I just got some shocking news. Your husband—the one who died three years ago—has reappeared and is headed back to Sovereign City tomorrow. Did you know about this?”
Isabella adjusted her sunglasses and glanced toward the front seat. This so-called resurrection wasn’t just some distant rumor; it was right in front of her.
“I heard he won’t be leaving again anytime soon. You aware of that?” Roderick pressed on.
She was aware that Edmund Vance was returning to Sovereign City, considering they were on the same flight; but the bit about him sticking around caught her off guard.
Isabella's fingers tapped lightly on her earbud as she paused to gather her thoughts. After a moment, she replied, “Sort of, I guess.”
Unsurprisingly, Roderick did not appreciate her vague response. “If you know, you know. If you don’t, just say so! Wait—where did you get this news? That jerk Edmund Vance has been contacting you?”
“No contact, just a chance encounter,” she clarified. Mentioning Edmund always seemed to bring out this grating tone in Roderick.
Roderick had grown up with Isabella, witnessing her rise in ballet from the age of three to her being admitted into a prestigious German art academy at thirteen, and then winning awards by fourteen. Although she never became a professional ballerina, to Roderick, Isabella was like a goddess.
But that goddess had been dragged down from her pedestal by someone like him—a no-show on their wedding day, disappearing to Southland for three years.
No matter how handsome Edmund was, he was still just a dog in Roderick’s eyes.
“If Edmund really isn’t leaving this time, you two are bound to run into each other. When that happens, don’t you dare go soft on him. I’ll send you something as a reference for how to handle it.”
Roderick grew increasingly frustrated, his surgical scalpel slicing cleanly through a silicone prop, the metallic sound echoing through the phone.
Isabella opened a picture just then; the jarring noise from Roderick made her flinch, causing her to lose grip on her phone. It slipped from her baggy work pants and, in a moment of reflex, she tried to catch it with her foot. Instead, it tumbled away, smacking into her stylish Martin boots before landing onto the floor, cheerfully detaching from her earbud.
The commotion must have been too much for Roderick, as he fell silent on the other end.
As she leaned forward to retrieve her phone, a long, clean hand interceded, effortlessly grabbing it. The nails were neatly trimmed, and he sported a simple yet stylish watch on his wrist, the dark leather band highlighting his porcelain-like skin.
Edmund Vance had been even paler before heading to Southland, his complexion almost sickly from too much time spent working in air-conditioned offices away from the sun.
Sometimes, Isabella would see reports about him on TV and feel as if he were a vampire duke emerged from an ancient European tomb, blending among the masses. But unlike the compelling characters of films, his dark, almond-shaped eyes lacked warmth, holding an air of indifference.
The hand that held the phone extended toward Isabella, and as she snapped out of her reverie and looked up, their eyes met. Roderick shattered the moment of silence.
“What’s with all the ruckus? Are you two getting cozy? Thank heavens you're finally ready to cheat, that’s cause for celebration!”
Issabella's heart raced as a loud image flashed on the phone screen.
It was a cartoon drawing that depicted something akin to an abalone mushroom, stabbed with two sharp knives, with the caption: “Chop off his...”
Edmund blinked, momentarily taken aback, the disorientation from the screen mixed with the irony of Roderick's outburst drawing sights from onlookers on the flight, more curious than a concert of pop stars.
Feeling anxious that Roderick might mention Edmund directly in one of his wild comments, Isabella quickly reached out to reclaim her phone.
They shared a brief glance. It seemed Edmund didn't recognize her, which came as a relief.
“Thanks,” she said softly, clutching her phone as if it were a lifeline.
“Anytime,” he replied monotonously.
What should have ended with a polite acknowledgment transformed into an awkward moment when Roderick’s voice hit decibel levels previously unexplored:
“Why should a no-show at his own wedding get any sympathy? That guy should learn what it means to be left hanging!”
Edmund, the absent groom for three years, remained as impassive as ever.
After quickly relaying a few more phrases to Roderick, Isabella hung up, leaning back against the chair, almost bubbling with laughter.
For a fleeting moment, she thought about introducing herself to Edmund:
“Hi, I’m your wife. The one he just called a loser and lunatic for abandoning you. No jokes here; that’s you, and yep, you’re the dog too.”
She wished she could see him lose that timeless stoicism, but alas, the odds were not in her favor.

Chapter 3

But such thoughts were fleeting; she and Edmund Vance were far from the kind of friends who could joke with each other.
Spending hours with the all-girls dance troupe in Berglon had drained Isabella Ward’s energy. She had been getting barely three or four hours of sleep each day.
With still over ten hours of journey ahead of her, she leaned back in her seat and gradually fell asleep.
When she awoke, the cabin was flooded with midday sunlight. The flight attendants, dressed in neat navy-blue uniforms, were offering menus and asking each passenger what they would like for lunch.
When it was Isabella’s turn, she glanced at the menu choices—fruit tart and beef roll—and sighed lightly, "Excuse me, could you please just bring me some congee?"
"Just congee?" the flight attendant politely asked. "Would you like some fish roe or diced beef in it? We can also prepare vegetable congee."
"No, just plain congee, please. Thank you."
The cabin was filled with the tantalizing aromas of gourmet meals—perhaps the most relaxing moment of the entire flight. Yet Isabella only had her bowl of plain congee, supplemented with a small packet of vitamin powder she had brought along.
Every meal felt this way as she scooped the watery rice porridge up, tasting almost nothing.
Up in the front row, Edmund Vance seemed to have remembered that he was a married man, perhaps inspired by that phone call about "cutting ties."
As Isabella finished about a third of her congee and picked up her napkin to wipe her mouth, she heard Edmund's voice from the front.
A man who's been deeply entrenched in business for years, his voice was low and steady, his pace measured.
He said, “Violet Rayne, what was my married miss's name again?”
Edmund Vance thought long and hard, eyes downcast, as if sifting through a pile of paperwork and data to retrieve that faint memory of his wife's identity.
Her appearance was blurred in his mind, but he believed that, given the circumstances he was in, the kind of woman who would rush to marry him was likely indecisive and submissive, someone who would merely follow the dictates of her family.
Sitting next to him, Violet Rayne offered a gracious reminder: “...Little Vance, her name is Isabella Ward.”
Isabella Ward.
It sounded familiar.
Edmund Vance feebly recalled the bird radical in the character "Ward," letting his mind wander for a moment before realizing he still couldn’t picture her face.
Suddenly, he felt a pang of pity for her.
No matter the type of woman, it seemed no one wanted to be a caged canary, trapped and dependent at home.
Since the past was behind them, why not let her be free?
“Draft a divorce agreement,” he pondered, his eyes darkening for a brief second. “Make the compensation generous; she deserves a fair share of whatever's left.”
To prevent her from suffering too much without family support.
Violet Rayne hadn’t expected her boss to jump straight into divorce talk, even if he assured her of a hefty settlement. She hesitated but pressed on, “Will you not see her when you get back to Sovereign City?”
“See who?”
For Edmund Vance, once he finished discussing a matter, it was done; Violet Rayne rarely questioned him back.
So when he nonchalantly remarked, it caught him off guard. After a moment's pause, he picked up the thread again: “Oh, my little bird?”
His tone was unmistakably casual, as if he wasn’t talking about personal matters at all, easing the tension for Violet Rayne as she joined in, “Why not see her first and then decide on the divorce? Uh, actually… I’ve heard a little about Isabella.”
“Spill.”
Although Violet Rayne wasn’t keen on gossip, she couldn’t resist the urge and blurted out, “I’ve heard that Miss Isabella… really, really loves you."
The disposable cup in Edmund’s hand stilled momentarily as he turned to look at Violet.
With only eight seats in first class, Isabella could hear their conversation without trying hard.
When she heard Edmund mention her name, she inwardly gleeful.
Thank goodness she hadn’t married for romance; otherwise, hearing her husband of three years not even remember her name would surely have given her a heart attack at 26,000 feet.
No romance, no drama.
Ancient wisdom held true.
Just as she allowed herself to bask in happiness, Edmund went and referred to her as “my little bird,” igniting her annoyance.
She struggled to hold back her impulse to dump her bowl of remaining congee over Edmund’s head.
The thought of divorce hardly bothered her; what angered her was being reduced to a mere canary.
You’re the bird; your whole family is a flock of birds!
Just as she fumed internally, she heard Violet Rayne continue, “I’ve heard that Miss Isabella… really, really loves you.”
“Cough.”
Isabella's disbelief was palpable, her eyes shooting towards the backs of the seats ahead. Unfortunately, the people there seemed oblivious, going on and on:
“On your wedding day, you didn’t show up, and later, they saw Isabella in a restaurant, crying uncontrollably.”
Isabella: “...”
What uncontrollable tears!
I just accidentally bit my tongue, alright?
“A couple of years ago, someone spotted her in Parishaux, and on Valentine’s Day, she was seen tears streaming down her face. Must have missed you terribly.”
Isabella: “...”
I missed him? Not even for a second!
I’ve been known to tear up in the wind since I was a kid.
“And last year, while buying diamonds, she mentioned your name; even when you ignore her, she hasn’t forgotten you.”
Isabella: “...”
Well, that part is true.
But bringing up Mr. Edmund Vance's name was just because… hey, did they offer a VIP discount?
Isabella regretted her earlier careful choice; had she known, she wouldn’t have skimped on that thousand bucks.
Men and their gossip could stretch the truth, and the further it went, the more outrageous it became. Isabella rolled her eyes, uninterested, and plugged in her headphones to continue her beauty sleep.
Having gone half a month without good rest, Isabella soon fell asleep again, slumbering heavily. It wasn’t until the cabin crew nudged her to wake up that she stirred.
She realized she was the last one left in first class, while Edmund Vance had likely already slipped out through the VIP exit.

Chapter 4

Isabella Ward turned on her heel, heading to the economy section of the cabin to remind her five girl group members to return directly to Ward Industries. Then she hopped into a taxi for the ride home, eager for some much-needed rest.
The taxi crawled through heavy traffic, and Isabella barely managed to keep her eyes open, almost dozing off again.
As they pulled into her neighborhood, Eastvale Estate unfurled around her, beautifully constructed and surrounded by lush greenery. The symphony of birds chirping and the buzzing of cicadas created a tranquil escape from the chaos of the city—a rare gem amidst the urban sprawl.
Isabella had arrived in Berglon at the end of July, when the locust trees were in full bloom. But just two weeks later, the flowers had fallen, replaced by clusters of green pods.
Watching the pods zip past her window, she found herself pondering a thought.
Edmund Vance was back in Sovereign City, and if he wasn’t planning to leave again, where would he be staying? Surely, he wasn’t planning to move back to Eastvale.
Before she could mull it over any further, the taxi pulled up outside her house. The driver, with a noticeable accent, said, “This is it, miss.”
"Yes, thank you," she replied, stumbling slightly as she stepped out.
Exhausted and jet-lagged, Isabella entered her home, still looking half-awake.
Forget about where Edmund Vance is living—sleep comes first.
---
Heaven Street, The Gilded Hall.
Inside the nightclub, strobe lights flickered wildly; one moment, a beam of blue light swept across the room, and the next, a cascade of green lasers followed suit. The noise was deafening—not exactly the sort of place for serious discussions.
Yet, it was precisely venues like this where many business deals were brokered.
After some business talk, Edmund brushed off a stray piece of laser paper from his lap, contemplating leaving.
Lucian Thorne, a close friend of Edmund's for years, could read his feelings even through that calm exterior. With an amused grin, he nudged a glass of whiskey closer. "Come on, after three years apart, you're just going to bolt after discussing business? Don’t you want to catch up with an old friend?"
“There's not much to discuss.”
“Aw, don’t say that. Just chat for a bit,” Lucian teased, swirling his drink, a smirk creeping onto his face. “I almost forgot you’re a married man now. How’s married life treating you?”
Edmund lounged on the leather sofa, legs comfortably splayed, wearing beige slacks with his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows.
He flicked a glance at Lucian but didn’t reply.
In a room full of friends, Violet chimed in boldly, “What’s there to talk about? Little Ed here is always wanting me to draft divorce papers.”
“Oh, so you’re coming back just to get divorced? Cold-hearted! But I’ve heard your wife is absolutely head over heels for you.”
Edmund took a sip from his whiskey glass, intrigue sparking in his gaze.
Not being in Sovereign City for three years, it seemed everyone had heard of Miss Isabella's deep affection for him.
But was it genuine love?
Or was there another motive at play?
“Speaking of which…” Lucian's gaze shifted as he spotted Isabella at the bar's entrance, turning to scold Violet, “Your intel is off. No divorce—look, Edmund's got her right here.”
The glass in Edmund's hand rippled as he shifted focus toward the entrance, maneuvering through the crowd and flashing lights to catch a glimpse of Isabella.
She wore a deep blue sundress, her hair casually pinned up, her slender shoulders framing a delicate silhouette that made her look almost ethereal—like a figure stepping straight out of an ink wash painting, not your typical nightclub regular.
“Isabella, little sister-in-law!” Lucian took center stage, standing on his chair to wave enthusiastically. He brandished a flashy light stick, his grin growing wider. “Hey, sister-in-law, over here! Look this way!”
In the chaos, Isabella seemed to catch wind of the commotion, turning around momentarily, her gaze lingering.
Violet leaned toward Edmund and pointed out, “While you’ve been gone, Isabella’s probably been barely eating. Just look at her—she’s practically fading away from missing you.”
Edmund scoffed lightly, “Poetic, aren’t you?”
Violet stifled her response, sensing his discontent and giving Lucian a pointed look.
Without hesitation, Lucian pulled Isabella over to their table. As she approached, she suddenly turned her head slightly, and when she faced Edmund again, her eyes glimmered with unshed tears under the vibrant lights.
Was she… crying?
Feeling a mix of emotion—surprise and delight—filled Edmund’s heart. How deeply this Isabella cared for him was becoming clearer by the moment.
At the same time, Isabella felt her pent-up frustration rising. She had just been jolted awake from a restful sleep by frantic calls about a few new girl group members who hadn’t reported back to the agency after a break. After countless phone calls, she finally tracked them down to the bar.
After delivering the stragglers to her manager with a frostbitten expression, Isabella had planned on heading back home to crash until sunrise. But turning around, she found Edmund, and everything changed.
Annoyed by the disruption, she couldn't help but stew over it all.
Especially since Edmund had the gall to call her a little bird.
Isabella had a notorious reputation for holding grudges, and had Edmund not run into her, maybe she could have let it slide.
But, of course, he did.
Standing her up at the altar.
Not coming home for three years.
Calling her a little bird.
Forcing her to rise and shine instead of sleep.
In her mind, it felt like poetic justice to seek some form of revenge.
Weren't they saying how much she loved Edmund? How could she let that slide?
Watch, and see how I show you what love looks like.
The complex emotions settled on Edmund as he watched Isabella approach, her heart on her sleeve.
She suddenly burst into tears, rushing toward Violet, exclaiming, “Edmund! You’re finally back! I’ve missed you so much I couldn’t enjoy a single meal. I thought I would go mad!”
Edmund: "..."
Violet: "..."

Chapter 5

As the sun sank behind the skyline of Sovereign City, Paradise Street transformed into the epicenter of nightlife. Among its many clubs, The Gilded Hall stood out, effortlessly pulling in the crowds.
But Isabella Ward could see clearly through the haze of gleeful laughter and brightly flashing lights. The revelry around her seemed entirely disconnected from the man seated nearby—Edmund Vance. He lounged in his chair, a half-empty glass of Chivas Regal in hand, his eyes as distant and cold as the ice cubes swirling in the amber liquid.
In fact, those eyes seemed more frozen than the ice itself. While the cubes would eventually melt away, his gaze remained unyielding, untouched by any kind of warmth.
So, when Isabella playfully launched herself toward the young man sitting next to Edmund, only to catch a look of surprise in Edmund’s eyes, a sly satisfaction bloomed within her.
The man she’d grabbed—the one trying to extricate himself from her grasp—seemed desperate. “I—uh, I’m Violet Rayne, Ed’s secretary and assistant! The lighting here is just too dim, haha! How could I be anywhere near as handsome as Ed?”
Edmund’s circle was filled with quick thinkers; he didn’t even have to say a word before new topics of conversation popped up around them.
Isabella responded with an exaggerated gasp, pretending to be taken aback. “Oh, I must have mistaken you for someone else!”
With that, she boldly settled into the sofa next to Edmund, her smile radiant as if connecting with him was the most exciting thing that could happen.
"Hey, Ed!" she chirped playfully, leaning closer despite his disdainful silence, blissfully ignoring his detached expression.
Her silence invited no response from him, but she remained undeterred, winking playfully at his cold demeanor as she feigned concern for his wellbeing.
Originally, this meeting was supposed to include only Edmund, Lucian Thorne, and Violet, and their table reflected that—an intimate setup with a semi-circular sofa surrounding a rectangular table. Lucian had just called for the server to order some dessert for Isabella when Violet pressed two ice cubes to his forehead, still recovering from the awkward misidentification.
Noticing the tension between Edmund and Isabella, Lucian and Violet exchanged knowing glances and exclaimed they needed to step out for a smoke, both nudging each other with their elbows, playfully teasing Edmund as they burst into laughter while leaving the table.
Once they departed, Isabella dropped her act, wiping the smile off her face and turning her attention to a server approaching with a dish of mango sago.
Edmund leaned back in his leather chair, scrutinizing Isabella's every move. In hindsight, he realized he’d lowered his guard too much around this seemingly delicate young woman. Her casual glance at him had been devoid of the fear or excitement he might expect.
Her expression hadn’t changed—almost lazily indifferent. And that smile she cast back at him after mistaking Violet felt insidiously provocative.
It seemed clear now; she must have meant to misidentify him on purpose.
Setting his glass down, Edmund rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze trained on the patterns formed by the light on the floor, lost in thought.
So, what was with those tears glistening in her eyes earlier?
Analyzing his thoughts, he felt his brow furrow just a moment before he pushed off the troubled expression. She must have been yawning. There was no way this girl harbored any deep feelings for him.
With a half-amused scoff, he returned to the present. Isabella, who had nearly pulled the wool over his eyes, was now inspecting the dessert nestled in a crystal bowl with more focus than she had ever directed at him.
She carefully scooped up a spoonful of mango sago, savoring it before leaning back, seemingly lost in contentment.
Edmund had tasted the desserts here himself; the chef had come from Hong Kong and was undeniably skilled. It wasn’t the food that was lacking.
Just then, Edmund was reminded that he and Isabella had actually met once before—three years ago, when his family pressured him to see her for a potential marriage agreement that had little bearing on his own ambitions. Their union was merely a means of undermining his position—an attempt at weakening the Vance legacy.
That day, he had been swamped with meetings and arrived late to a cafe. As he stood outside, speaking on the phone, the spring air still held a chill, and he glanced inside to see Isabella.
In that season of renewal, she’d worn a black qipao, sitting alone at the table, effortlessly calm despite his tardiness, her wrist resting on her chin deep in thought.
The calm expression was remarkably similar to the one she wore now, staring blankly at the dessert after her initial taste.
He hadn’t paid her much mind back then, dismissing her as a pretentious girl. Over three years crammed with work had faded her from his memory to little more than a passing thought.
Observing her daintily ignoring the dessert, Edmund reached across the table for a glass bottle of sparkling water, twisting off the top, and placed it before her. “Miss Ward, I’ve always been curious about something.”
Isabella looked up, the light catching her eye and revealing a small red mole just beneath her left eye.
“Why did you agree to marry me?”
She took a sip of water, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Because you’re rich, and handsome, and the House of Vance is powerful. Any one of those reasons would have someone lining up to marry you.”
Her smile lifted the mole into a charming smirk, and for a moment, she seemed almost playful.
“But you should know,” Edmund maintained his stoic demeanor, “I was in a downturn when we wed—and I’m still declining.”
The air between them thickened with unspoken tension, each word suggesting a history that neither was willing to unpack, but both felt pressed to confront.

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