I Will End My 10-Year Unrequited Love

Everyone, at some point, wished for Cyrone. But Elia had never once hidden her feelings. That was the difference between Elia and them.

“This is the seat for the lady.”

The voice belonged to Cyrone’s close aide, Nielsen. It seemed he had been watching Elia for some time, as he kindly showed her to her seat as if he had been waiting for her.

“It’s a bit too close.”

Elia squinted as she looked at the seat prepared for her.

Of all places, it was the closest to the platform where the two would soon take their vows. She would have rather stood anywhere else, but there she was, being forced to sit so near.

She genuinely wanted to wish him happiness in everything he would have, but she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes from such a close distance. Eyes that would soon vow love to another.

“This seat has been specially prepared for you by the prince.”

Nielsen smiled lowly as he held the chair for Elia. Elia already knew that there was a deliberate insult hidden in his words.

It was the seat that gave the clearest view of Cyrone, where he would vow his love. The very spot Cyrone, who knew Elia’s heart better than anyone, had prepared for her.

To hide the feeling of humiliation, Elia bit her lip tightly. She sat down slowly and scanned her surroundings.

Lilies, canaries, hyacinths, daisies… The petals of flowers symbolizing pure hearts and eternal love bloomed beautifully, greeting the guests.

“Why only mine…”

At Elia’s question, Nielsen shrugged without giving any answer. It was obvious that the bouquet on her table stood out in a way that was too glaring.

Unlike the pure white bouquets others had, hers was a bright yellow marigold.

“Perhaps it’s the prince’s wish.”

With an unreadable comment, Nielsen smiled faintly. Elia lifted the bouquet and pressed her lips gently against the rich petals. The scent of summer flowers tickled her nose.

“Do you know what the meaning of marigolds is?”

At that moment, someone spoke to Elia. It was Rias Damon, the young Count. As the only son of the Damon family, who had a long history in the north, he had only recently appeared in the capital’s social scene.

In his deep, dark eyes, Elia’s figure holding the bouquet shimmered. Elia ignored Rias and quietly cradled the bouquet in her arms, as though she was desperately trying to hold onto Cyrone’s heart. One that wasn’t hers.

Rias, now accustomed to her blatant disregard, pulled out a chair and sat next to Elia.

…The meaning of marigolds is…

“Pitiful love.”

Rias quietly chuckled. Pitiful love, Elia finally let out a short, bitter laugh. The yellow petals in her arms trembled gently. It seemed that, even on a day like this, Cyrone was still pushing her heart toward the edge of a cliff.

She thought she had adjusted by now, that she had grown used to it. But even now, she struggled to hold back the expression that threatened to crumble. At that moment, the soft melody signaling the beginning of the ceremony began to play.

“A flower that suits you well.”

Rias had quietly whispered near Elia’s ear, as if to remind her once again of her pitiful love.

Elia’s eyes slowly turned toward the pristine altar. Cyrone, the one she had loved so deeply, now stood there, side by side with Camille. In front of their sacred vow, people were laughing at Elia and her love.

But Elia wasn’t angry or heartbroken. After all, Cyrone, who was at the end of her love, was already mocking her heart. So, it was only natural for others to do the same.

“They make a good pair.”

Elia spoke softly as she gazed at the two standing under the sunlight.

Camille’s red hair glowed beautifully beside Cyrone. Elia couldn’t help but feel jealous of Camille, so much so that it almost hurt. She was ashamed at how easily jealousy rose within her.

Rias, watching Elia in silence, stiffened his lips in bitterness.

* * *

“…”

Cyrone’s eyes moved dispassionately through the crowd, seemingly searching for someone. When his gaze finally landed in front of Elia, a mischievous, languid smile crept onto his lips.

At that moment, Rias leaned in close to Elia and whispered something in her ear. But Rias’s eyes were locked onto Cyrone. The two men’s gazes intertwined in the air.

Elia, always maintaining her neutral expression as she listened, let out a short laugh. Her eyes curved prettily.

“……”

Suddenly Cyrone’s gaze grew narrowed and intense, relentlessly scanning the space between them. From that moment on, Cyrone’s eyes never left Elia, following her every movement.

Even while the Pope offered prayers of blessing for the beautiful couple, Cyrone’s gaze remained fixed on Elia.

“I promise you. I will love you until your red hair turns as white as snow.”

While Cyrone kissed the back of Camille’s hand, hidden beneath her white gloves, his gaze never wavered from Elia. He kept his eyes on her deliberately, determined that she would not escape his attention, not even for a moment.