Break off Engagement after Fiancé Recovered

“Smile, Sepharine. Everyone’s watching.”Lady Walfson’s whisper cut like the frost threading through the manor’s stained-glass windows. Sepharine obeyed, tilting her lips into something soft—pliable.“I’m trying,” she murmured, fingers trembling around the tea tray.“Try harder. You’re his wife now. Or have you already forgotten?”Across the ballroom, Draven Walfson sat like a specter in a velvet-lined wheelchair, arms rigid, jaw locked. His silver hair had been combed to perfection, but nothing could polish the fury burning in his storm-gray eyes. He didn’t look at her. Not once.“Why isn’t he drinking?” Lady Walfson snapped. “You brewed it exactly the way he likes it?”“I crushed the fireleaf myself,” Sepharine replied softly. “It’s still warm.”“Well, he needs to *see* that.”Swallowing, Sepharine moved across the ballroom. The music faltered. The air cracked with whispers.“That’s the bride?”“A maid, can you imagine?”“She must’ve caught him in some compromising positio

*CRACK.*“Roof’s iced over again,” muttered Thom, the butler, peering out the fogged window. “No supply wagons for at least a week.”“I’ll manage,” Sepharine replied, rolling her sleeves up. “We have dried herbs and firewood.”Draven’s voice echoed from upstairs. “If she so much as steps into my chamber today—”“I heard that,” Sepharine called back, calm as ever.She entered anyway.“You’re persistent,” he muttered, not turning from the window.“So is winter,” she said, setting a log into the hearth. “But it doesn’t mean we stop fighting it.”“No one asked you to fight anything,” Draven snapped.“No,” she agreed. “But someone has to keep you from freezing to death in your sulking corner.”He turned sharply. “I’m not sulking.”“You’re in the same shirt as yesterday.”“I like this shirt.”“You hate linen.”He scowled.She laid a warm compress along his calves. He flinched.“You felt that,” she said quietly.“No.”“You did.”“It’s nothing.”“It’s something.”“I said—”

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Thom remarked, drying a mug by the hearth.Sepharine didn’t look up. Her hands tightened the last strap on a worn leather satchel.“You’re not seriously doing this,” he said, voice dropping. “You can’t.”“I have to.”He stepped closer. “You’ll never make it past the ridge. Rogues hunt in packs.”She lifted a hunting knife, slid it into her boot. “I’ll move at night. Stay low.”“You’re a maid, not a soldier.”“No,” she said, straightening. “I’m someone who still believes Draven can walk.”Thom grabbed her arm. “He won’t forgive you if you die.”“I’m not doing this for his forgiveness.”“Then why?”She met his eyes. “Because I promised myself I wouldn’t let him rot in that chair while there was still a chance.”He let her go.Outside, the moon hung low. Sepharine slipped past the sentries, boots silent against frost. Snow crunched only once—when she glanced back at the manor windows.Draven’s chamber was dark.She whispered, “Don’t hate me

“Careful, little shadow,” Fiona cooed, sticking out a foot as Sepharine passed with a tray.The goblet tipped.Wine spilled across Draven’s tunic.Gasps echoed through the dining hall.“Oh dear,” Fiona drawled. “Clumsy as ever.”Sepharine dropped to her knees instantly, dabbing at the wine with shaking hands. “Forgive me, Alpha—”“Don’t call me that,” Draven muttered, brushing her hand away. “It’s fine. Get another bottle.”She froze. No defense. No glance. Nothing.Fiona leaned in, feigning a pout. “She’s just nervous. You know how jumpy servants get around nobles.”Laughter followed like a whip crack.Sepharine stood, throat dry. “Of course, my lady.”“Say it louder,” Fiona chirped. “So everyone hears.”“My lady.”“Good girl.”Sepharine turned and walked out of the hall. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t drop the tray.In the corridor, Thom met her with a folded cloth. “That wasn’t an accident,” he muttered.“I know.”“You should say something. He’d listen.”Sephar

“Happy birthday, darling!”Fiona’s voice rang out as Draven stepped into the ballroom, now dripping in gold and white streamers. Fireflies trapped in crystal lanterns flickered overhead.He frowned. “Did you choose the decorations?”“I supervised the whole thing.” She leaned in. “Impressed?”He looked past her. “Where’s Sepharine?”Fiona blinked. “The maid?”“My—” He stopped. “Where is she?”“Oh. Didn’t anyone tell you? She’s… gone.”“Gone?”Lady Walfson appeared at his side, voice smooth. “She left this morning. Said she needed new horizons. Don’t worry—she was well compensated.”Draven’s chest tightened. “You let her leave without telling me?”“She insisted.”He turned sharply. “And you just agreed?”“She handed in her resignation,” his mother replied. “With dignity. We honored it.”A footman approached, holding a silver tray. “Message for you, sir. Left in your study.”Draven took the envelope.He read it in silence. Then removed the ring and the folded birthday card