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𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎

Dona had picked the worst place to say it, and she knew it. The ballroom was swollen with eyes, cameras flashing like guns, and his mother's gaze sharp enough to hurt. But when the words pressed up her throat, she didn't swallow them. She said it there, in the middle of marble and empire, with silk rustling and champagne fizzing at her back. It wasn't smart or strategic, but it was true. And for once, she cared more about truth than caution.

She wasn't drunk enough to blame it on scotch, the glass in her hand had been nothing more than a prop. What spilled out of her mouth wasn't liquid courage, it was fire that had been waiting too long to burn. She had wanted to say it for weeks, maybe longer, but the moment never felt right. Until suddenly it did. Until she had him by the jaw, cameras be damned, and her voice cut through the music with three words that could never be taken back.

He could have left her hanging there, laugh at her, let the silence humiliate her. Instead, he answered. He said it back. The room spun itself into scandal, but all she saw was him, eyes locked to hers, mouth curved in that dangerous grin. She didn't care if the empire burned around them. She had given him her truth, and he had matched it. That was the only story she wanted to remember.