"Let's skip the reception," Peter said quietly as the newlyweds stepped out of the church. He glanced at Dranred, whose eyes lingered a little too long on the couple. He could see the strain behind his friend's calm smile.
"I'm fine," Dranred answered, though his voice came out softer than he intended.
Peter sighed. "You don't have to torture yourself, you know. No one will blame you if you leave."
Dranred shook his head. "If I walk out now, they'll think I haven't accepted it — that I'm still holding on. I started this, Pete. I'll finish it."
Peter studied him for a moment. "You're the only person I know who hurts himself out of pride."
A faint smile touched Dranred's lips. "Is that how you see me?"
"Yes. And I still don't understand you." Peter crossed his arms, frustrated. "There are a hundred women out there better than Estelle. Why waste your heart on someone who's gone? You're not a kid anymore. Look at you—she moved on, and you're still here."
Dranred said nothing. The sound of laughter drifted from the church doors — Estelle's voice among them, light and joyful.
He smiled faintly, but his eyes stayed on the ground.
Peter's words echoed in his head: There are others.
But who?
And why did it still feel like every woman he met was standing in Estelle's shadow?
"Congratulations on your wedding," Dranred said softly as he handed Estelle a small gift box. Bryan was busy greeting guests, leaving Estelle momentarily alone.
"Thank you," she replied, taking the box. "I didn't think you'd come."
"I asked for an invitation myself," he said with a faint smile. "How could I not show up?"
Estelle didn't answer. A fragile silence hung between them — one that said more than words could.
"Estelle!" Rosette called cheerfully as she approached, but her smile vanished when she saw who her sister was speaking to.
"Red…" she breathed, her voice faltering. Then, turning to Estelle, "Bryan's looking for you."
"Oh, I'll go back," Estelle said, glancing briefly at Dranred. "Thank you for the gift."
She smiled and brushed a strand of her veil aside — revealing a silver chain around her neck.
The pendant swung gently into view.
Dranred's breath caught.
Rosette froze.
Hanging from the chain was a ring — his ring.
For a moment, no one spoke. The world seemed to stop around them. The music, the laughter, the soft chatter of guests — all faded to a hum.
Rosette's chest tightened painfully. Why is she still wearing it? The sight felt like a knife turning in her heart.
"I—I'll just go check on James," she stammered, her throat closing around the words. She turned to leave, desperate to escape.
But then — a hand caught hers.
Dranred.
His grip was trembling. She looked down at their joined hands, then up into his face. His expression was unreadable, but the faint tremor told her everything. He was breaking — quietly, helplessly — and somehow, she couldn't walk away.
Before either could speak, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Estelle."
Bryan approached, smiling, his hand already reaching for his wife's waist. Startled, Estelle quickly tucked the necklace back beneath her gown and turned toward him with a bright, practiced smile.
"There you are. I've been looking everywhere," Bryan said. "Mom and Dad want to see us."
His gaze dropped to the box in Estelle's hand. "A gift?"
"From Dranred," Estelle said smoothly.
Bryan nodded once. "Thank you," he said to Dranred, polite but firm, before turning back to his wife. "Come on."
Dranred and Rosette watched silently as the couple walked away — her veil trailing like a ghost of what once was, his hand still faintly shaking in hers.
"Can you let go of my hand now?" Rosette said quietly. She tried to force a smile. "Why do you look like that? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Dranred didn't answer.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" she said after a pause. "The necklace she's wearing—it's the rings you gave her."
His eyes flickered.
"I gave her that ring," he said softly. His voice cracked at the edge. "It was the first thing I bought with my salary as a pro player. I wanted to give it to her and—"
"You wanted to propose to her, right?" Rosette cut in, her tone sharper than she meant it to be. Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then she looked away, unable to stand what she saw there.
"Please," she whispered, "let go."
Dranred's fingers tightened instead. "Can't you stay with me? Just—"
"I don't want to!" she snapped, yanking her hand free. The words came out louder than she intended.
"I'm in pain, Rosette," he said, his voice breaking. "I just… I need someone."
"I'm not that person," she said firmly, turning away. Her throat ached as she spoke.
"You can't use me to drown the pain you feel. You knew my sister was getting married, and you still gave her that ring. What were you trying to prove? That you both can't move on?"
Her voice trembled now, anger and heartbreak tangled together. "If you still loved each other, why didn't you fight for it then? Why wait until now?"
"Please—stop lecturing me," Dranred said. His voice was low, almost pleading. "I was ready to let her go. I've accepted it, even after ten years of hoping. I really thought I had. But when I saw that necklace—"
"You got confused," Rosette cut in again. "You think maybe she still loves you. That maybe there's a chance." She let out a bitter laugh. "Wake up, Dranred. She's married. Do you want to be the reason she betrays her husband?"
Her voice softened, but only slightly. "If you truly meant what you said about letting her go, then don't give meaning to what you saw today."
She turned to leave. But before she could take a step, she felt his hand again — gently, almost desperately, catching hers.
Then she felt it: the weight of his forehead resting against her back.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
He said nothing.
And yet, through the silence, she could feel every word he couldn't say.
Rosette tried to pull her hand away, but Dranred's grip only tightened. She glanced around. No one seemed to notice them—everyone else was laughing, clapping, and dancing with the newlyweds.
The music was loud, but between the two of them, there was only silence.
"Let me borrow your shoulder for a while," Dranred murmured. His voice was low, almost pleading.
She didn't answer.
He was trembling. She could feel it in the way his fingers clung to hers.
Rosette kept her eyes on the crowd, watching the lights flicker across their faces, the blur of joy she couldn't quite join. Why does it still hurt him this much? she thought. Because of what he saw? Because he thinks Estelle still loves him?
Anger burned quietly in her chest — anger at Estelle for wearing that necklace, at Dranred for not being able to let go, and at herself for caring too deeply.
If Estelle wore that ring around her neck… what was she trying to say? That she was waiting for him? That she still couldn't forget?
Rosette's throat tightened. She wanted to look away, but Dranred's weight against her hand anchored her in place.
For everyone else, it was a night of celebration.
For her, it was a reminder — that sometimes love doesn't end cleanly. Sometimes, it just lingers, heavy and uninvited, on a borrowed shoulder.
The music swelled in the background — a soft love song meant for the bride and groom. Laughter echoed across the hall, silverware clinking against wine glasses.
Dranred lowered his head. The faint brush of his forehead against her shoulder sent a current through Rosette's chest. His breath trembled against the fabric of her dress.
For a moment, she froze. Her heart wanted to push him away — to remind him that this wasn't right, that she wasn't his refuge — but her hands refused to move.
Instead, she stood there, letting him lean on her.
She could feel the storm beneath his silence — the pain, the confusion, the battle between acceptance and regret. And in that quiet space between them, she realized something: sometimes the strongest people aren't the ones who move on first… but the ones who stand beside someone who can't.
"Dranred…" she whispered, her voice almost lost in the music. "You have to let her go."
"I'm trying," he said, voice rough. "But it hurts more than I thought it would."
She shut her eyes. "It's supposed to hurt. That's how you know it was real."
He lifted his head slowly, meeting her gaze. For the first time, she saw vulnerability — raw, unguarded, almost childlike.
"Then what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.
Rosette hesitated, her throat tight. "You live, Red. You play. You find something worth holding onto again."
"And what if I already found it?"
The words came out softly — too soft, yet heavy enough to still her breath.
Rosette blinked, searching his eyes, unsure if she'd heard right. But before she could respond, a burst of applause filled the room — the newlyweds' first dance had just ended. The spell broke.
Dranred stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Thanks… for letting me borrow your shoulder."
Rosette swallowed, forcing a smile. "You'd better not make it a habit."
He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that tried to hide a thousand things — then turned away, blending into the crowd.
Rosette stood there, her heart still racing.
And for a fleeting moment, she wasn't sure who needed saving more — him, or her.