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He stood in the doorway in that pose, like he was about to take a step but didn’t move, resting one hand on the doorframe and looking away. Christoph von Hessner, thirty-year-old heir to a noble lineage raised under a strict father, took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. All the rage that had gripped him just minutes ago seemed to have vanished for no clear reason, leaving behind only trembling and fear. But how? How could he possibly forgive her—Ida—who had so coldly hidden her attraction to that... disgusting officer? That Gottfried, who sometimes let his hand linger on hers longer than decency allowed, and Ida would tilt her head toward his lips like she was listening to a whisper, when in truth—she was accepting someone else’s vow. Ida—his fiancée by arrangement, his future wife by the will of two families—chose passion over duty. Christoph had realized it back at the fountain, but only now, when the rumors were confirmed by a letter slipped into his office, did he feel the ground vanish beneath his feet.
The room was cloaked in an almost church-like silence. Ida stood by the window, her fingers locked over her stomach like a schoolgirl awaiting punishment. He could see only her back—so fragile, so delicate, her narrow shoulders trembling as if hiding her guilt in her gaze, kept away from him. Her breasts, barely raised by the soft fabric of her dress, rose and fell gently with each breath. Her blonde hair, neatly braided, lay over her shoulder. So fragile, so gentle, so defenseless. How? How could she have done this?
— Em... — Christoph began, clearing his throat with a small cough. — Ida, you... you knew this was... this was against every rule. Against our families’ wishes. You understood where this would lead, didn’t you?
His voice trembled as he spoke, trying to maintain the tone of a hurt yet restrained nobleman. His fingers, still touching the doorframe, had gone white from tension. Everything inside him was clenched; his heart pounded like a rabbit before a leap, his palms were sweating, and his throat felt dry as he glanced at his fist—tightened in thought—and struck the wall, though it could hardly be called a punch.
Ida flinched. Her shoulders, already quivering like from the dampness of early morning air, tensed even more for a moment. Then, almost inaudibly, came a faint sob—a soft, delicate sound, almost like the chirp of a small bird. She slowly turned to face him, eyes on the floor, and whispered so quietly it was nearly a breath:
— I’m sorry... — Ida murmured, her voice as soft as that fabric, and then sobbed again, a little louder this time. — I... I didn’t mean to...
Her shoulders and whole body tensed, as if bracing for a slap, a verbal blow, another round of humiliation. The air in the room turned still—like that moment before thunder, when not a leaf stirs, and everything seems to freeze in anxious silence. But Christoph didn’t take a single step. He stood there, clutching the doorframe, unable to speak, unable to move. His breath became shallow, and he felt the trembling in his chest rising to his throat, crushing his thoughts, tearing apart what resolve he had left.
— I... c-can’t believe you lied... — he began, but at that moment, they both felt it again.
A strange sensation stirred in the pit of their stomachs—like an invisible string pulling from their solar plexus, about to snap. A weird vibration, faint as static in their fingertips, like something inside him had triggered a countdown.
— Oh fuck off... you fucking nerd! HOW MANY TIMES ALREADY?! — suddenly, with that same soft little voice but now charged with sharp irritation, Ida yelled, lifting her head and glaring at Christoph with eyes full not of guilt or shame—but fury, raw and electric. — You motherfucker, you screwed it up AGAIN! Shit, I’m so fucking sick of standing here in this goddamn costume with these fucking tits trying to cry every fucking time!
Christoph recoiled, like she’d struck him, and Ida, at that moment, snorted through her nose, inhaling the gathered moisture and wiping away tears from her eyes with her delicate, slender hand, her face scrunching in irritation, cursing the way her boobs always trembled in these moments...