The oppressive hum of the annual business gala was a familiar symphony of power, but tonight, it clashed violently with the deafening noise in my own mind. Chandeliers bathed the grand ballroom in a soft, golden glow, yet I felt only shadows.

My brother, Rhysand, stood at the center, the golden boy, absorbing all the light. My parents beamed, their faces alight with a pride they had never once directed my way. I watched, a silent spectator in a world I was never meant to belong to.

“Fine Arts?” A guest’s polite but dismissive tone cut through my thoughts, echoing my mother’s casual wave of dismissal. My course, my passion, meant nothing to them. I was merely an afterthought, a mistake.

I slipped away, murmuring an excuse no one heard, seeking refuge from the suffocating air. My phone vibrated, Noreen’s name flashing on the screen, a lifeline in the darkness. We talked, she urged me to escape, but the invisible chains of my family held me fast.

“I can’t, Noreen,” I whispered, stepping into the cool night air. The words were barely out when a hard object collided with me—a jolt, a sharp intake of breath, and then the unmistakable spill of red wine. My eyes shot up, meeting a pair of cold, intense, unreadable eyes. A tall, imposing man, his crisp black shirt now stained. And for the first time in a long time, I forgot how to breathe.