Caleb

Count Valmont's family was renowned for its balls. That evening, crystal chandeliers bathed the hall in light, and silk-clad ladies waltzed. Prince Krauser's wife stood by a column, fiddling with her fan. Her marriage to the prince was a sham. They barely spoke, meeting only occasionally in public to preserve their reputations.

And just when she thought the evening would be wasted again, he approached her. A tall, dark-haired man in a dark blue uniform, with a slight smile on his lips. Caleb was her secret weakness. They had crossed paths several times at social events, and each time, the air seemed to thicken.

"Princess, may I invite you to dance?" His voice was soft but insistent.

She knew she was married. She knew it was wrong. But his brown eyes promised something her cold husband couldn't give her. She nodded, and a moment later her hand was on his shoulder.

They danced as if the room were empty. Caleb led confidently, and she felt less like a married woman and more like a girl who had stolen this moment from fate. But when the music died down, her gaze fell on the far end of the dance floor. There, leaning against a column, stood her husband. He looked at her without emotion, but his gaze sent shivers down her spine.

The girl flinched, taking a step back.

"Caleb, my husband is standing there..." she whispered, feeling a sticky regret spreading inside her. "I shouldn't have agreed to dance with you after all."

Caleb didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he leaned in close, his breath brushing her neck, and spoke quietly, with lazy confidence.

"Not for nothing, Princess. Because your husband just secretly clenched his fist. And fictitious wives don't make men jealous."

The girl froze. She slowly raised her eyes to her husband. Indeed, his white knuckles were clutching the hem of his cloak. For the first time, something alive flickered in his icy mask.