When we reached Orasa, I immediately noticed the expressions around us.
Chak's mother… the guests… even the journalists holding cameras and microphones — they all looked equally confused, like they had no idea what Orasa was talking about.
Vikran, on the other hand, wasn't paying attention to any of it.
His eyes never left Anamarija.
Not even for a second.
"Bella," Orasa said with a practiced social smile, "we meet again."
"It's true," Anamarija replied calmly.
"Bella?" Chak's mother repeated, her brows knitting together as she looked at Anamarija in confusion. "What is going on here? Does she have two names?"
"What do you mean?" Orasa asked, turning slightly toward her.
Anamarija let out a quiet breath.
"I'm not Bella," she said gently.
"My name is Anamarija."
I saw the change instantly.
Orasa's expression faltered — just slightly — but enough to reveal her shock.
"Everything I told you about myself last time… it was a lie," Anamarija continued, her voice steady.
The air around us grew heavier.
"Then what are you even doing here?" Orasa asked, her tone sharpening.
"It's a long story," Chak's mother answered before Anamarija could speak. She is a..
I watched her carefully.
The hesitation.
The quiet internal struggle.
As if she was choosing between silence… and truth.
Then Chai's voice cut through the tension.
"Our sister."
He stepped forward, Malai moving to stand beside him.
Orasa froze.
"What?" she whispered, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
Her gaze shifted —
to Chak's mother,
back to Anamarija,
then to Chai, Chak and Malai.
Realization slowly dawned in her eyes.
"So that means…" she said quietly, almost breathless,
"She's a Phanprasit."
Silence fell around us.
"That's not true," Orasa said quickly, almost instinctively, as she turned to Chak's mother for confirmation.
Chak's mother met her gaze, her expression calm but firm.
"Unfortunately… it is true."
The words landed heavily.
Orasa blinked. "So he had two families at the same time?"
Chak's mother held her composure.
"Something like that," she replied quietly.
A brief, uncomfortable silence followed.
"May I go sit down?" Anamarija asked softly.
"Of course," Chak's mother said with a small nod.
We began walking back toward the seats, the murmur of the hall slowly returning around us.
That was when a young man approached.
He was dressed in pastel green — perfectly tailored, effortlessly elegant.
The kind of elegance that didn't need to try.
It was obvious at a glance: wealth, privilege, confidence.
The type of person who was used to getting whatever he wanted.
Without hesitation, he reached for Anamarija's hand.
And kissed it.
A formal gesture.
Polished.
Public.
I saw Anamarija's expression shift — surprise washing over her face, as if her mind hadn't quite caught up with what had just happened.
Like she couldn't fully process the moment.
Beside her, Vikran changed instantly.
The easy smile faded.
His face turned deathly serious.
His eyes darkened as he watched another man kiss her hand.
He didn't look away.
The guy smiled as if he had just done something charming — something she should feel honored by.
Anamarija slowly pulled her hand back, her fingers slipping from his grasp.
"Excuse me…" she said calmly, but there was a clear boundary in her voice. "I don't think we know each other."
His smile didn't fade.
"Not yet," he replied with easy confidence. "But by the end of the day, you'll be mine."
The air around us went still. Heavy. Suffocating.
Vikran stepped forward.
"Watch how you speak," he said quietly, his voice dangerously calm.
The guy glanced at him, clearly not taking him seriously.
"And you are…?"
Anamarija moved between them before Vikran could say another word.
"No one gets to talk about who belongs to whom," she said sharply. "I'm not a prize."
The guy leaned closer — too close. Close enough that the gesture felt deliberate. Intrusive.
"You say that now."
"Let's go," Anamarija said firmly.
We headed to our seats, the tension following us like a shadow. When we sat down, Vikran took the seat right next to her without hesitation.
"Does anyone have a tissue?" Vikran asked quietly.
"I do," Pim said gently, already opening her purse. She pulled out a wet wipe and handed it over.
Vikran took Anamarija's hand carefully, almost asking for permission with his eyes.
Then, slowly — gently — he wiped the spot where that guy had kissed her hand.
As if he could erase the moment.
As if he could take away the discomfort.
As if protecting her meant fixing even the smallest things.
Anamarija watched him in silence.
Her expression softened.
And Vikran's jaw tightened — not from anger now, but from the quiet need to make sure she was okay.
He didn't say anything.
He just didn't let go of her hand.
A soft chime echoed through the hall.
The quiet signal was enough to still every conversation.
Guests turned toward the front as the lights dimmed just slightly, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The low hum of voices faded into a respectful silence.
Then the music began.
Soft at first. Gentle piano notes floating through the air like a slow breath.
Anamarija's fingers tightened slightly around Vikran's hand. He felt it immediately and gave her hand a small reassuring squeeze.
Across the aisle, I saw Chak straighten his posture. His expression was composed, but I knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders.
This wasn't just a ceremony.
This was history. Family. Reputation. Expectations.
The large doors at the back of the hall opened.
Everyone turned.
A collective murmur swept through the crowd.
The aisle seemed longer than before, lined with elegant white flowers and soft candlelight. Every camera lifted at once. Journalists leaned forward. Guests whispered behind polite hands.
Vikran leaned slightly toward Anamarija.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She nodded.
"Yeah… It's just a lot."
He smiled faintly.
"Stay close."
I glanced toward Chak again.
For a brief second, his eyes searched the crowd.
And then they found mine.
Everything else blurred — the music, the lights, the people.
Just us.
He didn't smile.
But his gaze softened.
And somehow, that was enough.
The ceremony was about to begin.
My chest felt too tight.
Like the air wasn't reaching deep enough.
The music continued — elegant, ceremonial, perfect — but inside me everything was chaos.
Stop it.
The thought came suddenly. Wild. Reckless.
Stop the wedding.
My fingers curled into fists on my lap.
I could do it.
I could stand up right now.
Walk down that aisle.
Take Chak's hand and show everyone the truth.
Show them us.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Images flooded my mind —
His quiet smiles meant only for me.
The way his voice softened when he said my name.
The nights we sat too close, saying nothing, feeling everything.
The promises hidden in glances.
The love we never dared to name out loud.
And now—
Now he was standing there like he belonged to another future.
A future where I didn't exist.
If you stay silent, my mind whispered, you lose him.
My throat burned.
I imagined the scene —
Gasps. Cameras flashing. Whispers turning into headlines.
Families shocked. Reputations shattered.
But also—
Freedom.
Truth.
No more hiding.
My leg moved before I realized it.
Just slightly.
Like my body was testing the decision my heart was screaming to make.
Stand up.
I looked at Chak.
He stood tall, composed, unreadable to everyone else.
But I knew him.
I saw it —
The stiffness in his jaw.
The breath he held too long.
The way his eyes avoided the crowd.
He wasn't calm.
He was enduring.
For family.
For duty.
For expectations that weighed more than happiness.
My vision blurred.
If I love him… shouldn't I fight?
My pulse roared in my ears.
I leaned forward.
Hands trembling.
Half a second away from changing everything.
Half a second away from ruining everything.
And in that fragile moment, only one question echoed inside me—
Am I brave enough to choose us?
The ceremony moved forward like a slow, unstoppable tide.
Every word spoken by the officiant felt distant, muffled beneath the storm inside my chest.
Then came the moment.
The question everyone had been waiting for.
The officiant turned toward Chak.
"Do you take Phalin to be your lawful wife—"
Silence swallowed the hall.
"—to stand by her, to honor her, and to share your life with her?"
Time fractured.
Chak didn't answer.
A ripple of murmurs stirred among the guests.
Cameras lifted higher.
Journalists leaned in.
Families held their breath.
Chak stood perfectly still.
Then—
He turned his head.
Not toward the officiant.
Not toward Phalin.
Toward me.
Our eyes met across the crowd.
His composure cracked, just slightly. Just enough for me to see the weight he carried. The question he couldn't ask out loud.
My vision blurred.
Tears gathered before I could stop them.
This was it.
The moment where love and reality tore each other apart.
I felt everyone watching him.
Waiting.
Judging.
Expecting.
My heart screamed don't do it —
but my fear whispered let him go.
My lips trembled.
And then…
I gave him a small nod.
Just once.
So small no one else would notice.
But he did.
Chak drew in a deep, shaking breath.
"…Yes."
The word echoed louder than applause.
Louder than music.
Louder than the sound of my heart breaking.
The world erupted — cheers, clapping, celebration.
But I heard none of it.
Because at that exact moment, my tears fell.
Not from joy.
Not from pride.
But from a grief so heavy it felt endless.
I smiled so no one would ask.
And silently,
I let him go.
Applause still echoed when Phalin stepped closer.
She rose slightly on her toes, one hand resting lightly against Chak's chest.
And then she kissed him.
On the lips.
Soft. Brief. Perfectly proper in the eyes of everyone watching.
The crowd melted.
More cheers. More cameras. More celebration.
But inside me—
Something twisted.
Sharp. Burning. Possessive.
Jealousy wasn't loud.
It didn't scream.
It sank deep into my chest and stayed there, heavy and suffocating.
Because I remembered.
Last night.
"I won't kiss her," he had said softly.
"Not like that."
A promise spoken in the dark.
Private. Honest. Ours.
And now—
He hadn't moved away.
He hadn't stopped it.
He just stood there… and let it happen.
I knew it wasn't his choice.
I knew the eyes on him numbered in the hundreds.
I knew this wedding was duty, family, expectation.
But knowing didn't make it hurt less.
Because that kiss wasn't just a gesture.
It was a line being crossed.
A boundary we once believed was ours alone.
Phalin smiled brightly, unaware.
Unaware that the man she had just kissed
already belonged to someone else.
Not by law.
Not by ceremony.
But by heart.