The Petrov estate loomed ahead—proud and cold beneath the falling snow.

Alexei stood beside the carriage, breath misting into the air and gloved hands clasped behind his back. His uniform, adorned with gleaming medals, felt more like armor than honor.

He extended a hand to Irina as she stepped down, her fingers delicate and gloved in velvet. It was all performance. Every motion rehearsed and every breath measured.

They had told him this was his reward. That Irina—poised, noble, the daughter of power—was his future. That the union was what he had earned with blood and sacrifice for his country.

Alexei almost laughed when they said that.

They didn't know that every sleepless night spent buried in reports, every time he volunteered to return to the front lines, wasn't out of duty.

It was grief.

His attempt to outrun the memory of a man who had vanished without a trace. A man whose absence gnawed at him like rot.

The doors of the estate groaned open, ancient and heavy. Snow-chilled wind rushed in, curling through the marble halls.

"Welcome home, Lady Irina!" the servants chorused.

Irina swept forward, smiling radiantly upon falling into the arms of her waiting parents. Alexei remained still, offering a stiff nod before stepping inside.

The doors shut behind him with a dull finality, locking out the snow. His boots echoed across the floor.

He could feel their eyes on him. The awe. The caution. The quiet fear. Alexei was used to it. But then—

He saw him.

Alexei's breath hitched, sharp and ragged, as if the wind had been knocked from his lungs.

There, standing among the line of servants was him.

No. It couldn't be.

Alexei blinked, once, twice—fearing it was another cruel mirage. Another hallucination conjured by a heart too tired to forget.

But it wasn't.

It was him. Flesh and blood. Alive.

Alive.

Alexei's throat closed. The air felt too thin.

Two years, three months and eleven days. That's how long it had been since he last saw him.

He had buried him in his mind a thousand times. Burned through every memory until only ash remained. And still, it hadn't been enough.

And now he was here. Standing before him like a stranger in familiar skin.

Their eyes met.

And nothing.

No flicker of recognition or warmth. Just polite detachment, as if Alexei was no more than another guest.

The silence in Alexei's head was deafening.

The head attendant's voice cut through the haze like a blade. "Colonel Vasiliev," he said crisply, stepping to his side, "this will be your personal attendant for the season. He'll see to your needs while you stay with the Petrov family."

Alexei nodded, his gaze locked to the man standing beside the head attendant.

The face was the same. The quiet strength behind his eyes. But there was something missing. Everything was missing.

The attendant turned to the young man. "This is Colonel Alexei Vasiliev. Lady Irina's fiancé. Introduce yourself properly to the Colonel."