The sound of violins drifted faintly from inside — soft, aching, timeless. The kind of music made for people who still believed in love.
Aria stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. Luca's eyes searched hers, quiet but desperate, as if he was trying to memorize her all over again.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"I could say the same about you," he replied, his voice low, carrying both warmth and regret.
She tried to look away, but he stepped closer — close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne, the same one that used to linger on her hands after every stolen moment.
"Luca, please," she said softly. "Someone will see."
"Let them," he said, his tone sharp, then gentled. "I'm tired of pretending."
Her eyes glistened. "You made your choice."
He flinched, just slightly. "Did I?"
For a heartbeat, silence. The city hummed far below them, a thousand lights blinking like indifferent stars.
Luca's voice broke the quiet. "They call it peace," he said, half to himself. "But all I feel is emptiness."
Aria swallowed hard. "You think I don't feel it too? Every headline, every whisper — it's like they took my name and tied it to your mistakes."
"I never wanted this," he murmured.
"Then why didn't you fight for me?"
Her words trembled through the night, raw and aching.
Luca looked at her, guilt and longing carved into every line of his face. "Because fighting meant losing everything my family built. And I thought—" he stopped, his voice barely a breath, "—I thought I could live with that."
"And can you?" she asked.
He looked away. "No."
Aria's chest rose and fell, unsteady. "It's too late now."
Luca took another step closer. "Is it?"
Inside, the orchestra swelled. A slow waltz began — haunting, familiar.
He extended his hand. "One dance," he said quietly. "That's all I ask."
She stared at him, torn between reason and the echo of everything they once were. "Luca…"
"One last time," he whispered.
Her resistance broke. Slowly, she placed her hand in his.
He drew her close, his hand finding the small of her back. The world outside disappeared. They moved together as if the music had been written just for them — two broken hearts trying to remember what it felt like to beat in sync.
Neither spoke. They didn't need to. Every turn, every step carried the words they couldn't say aloud.
Then, halfway through the song, someone gasped.
"Luca?"
It was Bianca.
The music kept playing, but the illusion shattered instantly.
Luca froze. Aria pulled back, her hand trembling as it slipped from his. The crowd was turning — whispers spreading like wildfire.
Bianca's eyes were wide, glassy with disbelief. "What are you doing?"
Luca opened his mouth, but no words came.
Aria stepped back, her throat tightening. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have—"
She didn't finish. She turned and walked quickly toward the exit, the weight of every stare following her.
Luca stood still, his chest burning, his mind a storm.
Bianca's voice broke the silence. "You just couldn't let her go, could you?"
He didn't answer. He just watched the door where Aria had disappeared — and for the first time, everyone in that glittering room saw it clearly:
The engagement might have saved his family's name.
But it had destroyed his soul.