"You chose clout. I chose peace."
Dante's POV – Ashvale Tower, 59th Floor, Late Evening
The city outside my window shimmered like spilled magic, distant traffic floating in neat runic grids, skyscrapers crowned with neon sigils, and mana trains humming along aerial rails. It was quiet an peacef this high up but I'd learned something strange about peace lately.
It's louder than war.
War is sharp, hot and loud.
But peace? The kind that comes after you've been dragged and forgotten?
That kind is cold. Still, heavy in the chest.
Like walking into a room you used to own and realizing it never missed you.
I sat in the Ashvale lounge, legs crossed on a charcoal leather chair, wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to say I'm rich and unbothered. The sleeves were rolled to the forearms, revealing faint scar lines the cameras couldn't see, and the ring on my right hand, the one carved from Dead Zone bone-glass, etched with the word Survivor.
In my hand? A crystal teacup of night blossom elixir.
On the table? A single flickering message icon, floating midair.
Her name lit up in pale gold:
Rhea Valestra.
Huh.
Took her long enough.
Flashback: Five Years Ago, The Day She Left
She hadn't cried.
Not really.
Not when the charges dropped. Not when my name was burned from the Academy records. Not when I was dragged to the portal gates in chains, flanked by silent paladins.
She had stood beside the Hero, her hands trembling, clutching his sleeve like a woman in a tragic romance drama. She didn't say a word, she just looked away.
Later on, I watched the clip.
That stupid, awful clip that went viral.
Her voice, soft, in the background of a press conference:
"I had to protect my future. I hope Dante understands."
I understood.
She chose her image over me.
She chose the Hero.
She chose clout.
Back to Present
K1NG chimed in my contact lens with artificial sass.
K1NG: Incoming message from your ex. Should I schedule her disappointment, or would you like to hand-deliver it?
"Let's see what she wants," I murmured, setting my teacup down.
The message opened with a soft ping.
Rhea:
Hey.
I don't know if you'll even read this. But I've been seeing everything, and I… I think we should talk.
I never stopped thinking about you. About us.
Maybe we made a mistake.
I stared at the message. Not blinking.
There it was.
The guilt-flavored apology wrapped in nostalgia and late-night loneliness. What a classic.
K1NG was already drafting three savage replies and a digital blocking spell. I ignored them.
I read her message again, slowly, this time picturing her sitting in one of those luxurious high-rise apartments, perfectly curated. Maybe even holding a glass of something expensive, pretending she wasn't shaking.
She hadn't reached out when I vanished or stood between me and exile.
But now, after all this time, now that I had clawed my way out of a crater and built a tower higher than her ambition—
Now she remembers me?
Funny.
I leaned forward, tapping a single reply into the air.
I used to think about you too.
Then I got busy.
Send.
Blocked.
I didn't flinch nor blink. Just exhaled softly and picked up my tea again.
Behind me, the windows of Ashvale glowed with city light. My reflection stared back with calmness.
There was a time I'd imagined sending her paragraphs.
But none of that lived in me anymore.
That version of Dante died out there in the ruins—curled over a broken wand and a heart still trying to believe in fairy tale endings.
The man in the mirror now?
He'd rebuilt his own story and this time, he wrote the ending.
Meanwhile – Rhea's POV, Vastra Heights
Rhea was crying with pretty tears. Though not the usual performative sniffles for the feed.
Real ones.
No cameras, just her, sitting in the dark of her too-perfect apartment, reading that cold, precise message over and over again.
And then the contact disappeared.
Blocked.
No room for a follow-up.
No opening for a second chance.
It hit like a slap she hadn't braced for.
Because for the first time since the scandal—since she made that "choice"—she realized something deeply, painfully true: Dante didn't hate her.
He didn't even think about her.
She had become… irrelevant.
To him.
And maybe to the world, too.
She Tried Again
She tried to message a mutual friend.
"Do you think he still loves me?"
The reply came minutes later.
He doesn't even remember how you tasted.
He's moved on, Rhea. You should too.
But maybe next time, try choosing the man, not the spotlight.
Also… he owns your apartment now. You should probably move.