Helena took refuge on the back terrace, far from the noise, the toasts, and the stares that suffocated her. The garden was lit by warm hanging lights, and the night air carried the scent of blooming roses. But not even the beauty of the scene eased the weight in her chest.
"You were always good at running away," said a voice behind her.
Helena didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The tired tone, the soft cadence, and that trace of irony were unmistakable.
"I'm not running away," she replied without turning. "I just needed some air."
"From Nathaniel or from yourself?"
Julian stepped closer, stopping less than a meter away. Helena felt the heat of his presence before she saw him. Then, finally, she looked at him. His eyes were locked on her, as if nothing in the world mattered more.
"Don't start," she whispered. "Not tonight."
"When then, Helena? On your wedding day?"
Helena crossed her arms.
"That's not going to happen. There won't be another night. Or another conversation like this."
Julian looked down and let out a humorless laugh.
"You think this is a conversation? Since you arrived this morning, you've barely looked at me."
"Because I don't want to look at you."
A thick silence fell between them. The kind of silence that carries the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved.
Julian stepped even closer. Now they were too close.
"Sometimes I think if that night had never happened…" he said, barely audible. "You and I wouldn't be like this. Maybe you would've been happy."
Helena closed her eyes. The memory was a wound that had never healed properly.
"Don't say that."
"Why? Because it's a lie? Or because you've thought about it too?"
Their eyes met, and it was as if time rewound.
The kiss.
The smell of wood and wine.
The heat of his hands on her bare back.
And then, the horror of realizing what they had done.
"You were the mistake, Julian," she said, her voice low. "And I… I was a coward."
He smiled, sadly.
"Maybe. But don't look at me like I don't know what I feel. Don't look at me like I don't know you. Because I do, Helena. The real you—not the role you play for Nathaniel."
She stepped back. This had to end.
"It's over. Don't ever speak to me about that night again. Never."
And without waiting for a response, she walked back into the ballroom, leaving behind a crack in the glass of the perfect life she had built.
A crack that, very soon… would let something else slip through.