When the first match concluded and the victor was named, the announcer’s voice rang out again—loud, theatrical, thrumming with anticipation.

  “Our next battle—Trevon Voschell!”

  The stands erupted into cheers.

  “Second son of Marquis Voschell—are we witnessing the rise of another prodigy?”

  Appuse swelled, echoing across the arena like a wave cresting in real time. But my focus had already shifted—my thoughts elsewhere.

  “And facing him—Jamel Zonneveld, third son of Duke Zonneveld! A rising star from the Eastern Region, famed for his ruthless efficiency and unshakable form. This is sure to be a match worth watching!”

  The noise grew louder, but it barely registered.

  The moment I heard that surname, something inside me went taut. My back straightened. My pulse sharpened.

  Zonneveld.

  The name alone shifted something in the air.

  The Zonnevelds didn’t attend public events like this—at least, not ones they didn’t control.The Duke held his own tournaments: invitation-only, carefully staged affairs designed to parade Eastern excellence.So what were his sons doing here, on Western soil, beneath Bourdelle banners?

  To most, it might seem like ambition. To me, it felt like a move.Calcuted. Intentional.

  If Jamel was here… then Lucien would be, too.

  I turned toward the competitors’ waiting area, scanning the crowd. And there he was—eyes locked on the ring, cold and calcuting.

  Lucien Zonneveld.Second son of Duke Zonneveld. Not born of the duchess, but of a mistress. Still a bastard in title, but ambition like his never stayed caged for long. He stood among the other participants with the same unshakable air as always—confident, composed, already being watched.

  He hadn’t drawn a bde yet, and still, he owned the space around him.

  I watched him—not from the shadows, not as some forgotten prince—but as someone who had stepped into the same arena.

  In our past life, he never looked at me. Not even once.

  Still, I foolishly tried to outshine him.We never crossed bdes, but I competed in other ways—through status, through reputation, through quiet games of influence.

  Not because I hated him.Not because I wanted to win.

  But because of her.

  The woman I chased like a mirage.I convinced myself that if I gave her everything—attention, affection, loyalty—she would eventually turn to me.

  She never told me to stop.

  She just let me linger.

  Kept me close enough to matter—but never enough to mean anything.

  Looking back now, I wonder if she ever truly saw me—or if she only liked knowing someone would always be there, ready to fall.

  Because in the end—

  She chased after him.

  And I chased after her.

  And Lucien?

  He never had to try.

  He was the one she smiled at. The one she waited for. The one fate had chosen.

  The noble heartthrob. The destined knight. The unrelenting hero.

  And I?

  I was the fool clinging to a role that never belonged to me.

  To him, I wasn’t a rival—just a background fixture. An outcast prince with no pce in his story.

  And now here he was again—Lucien Zonneveld.Still dazzling. Still untouchable.

  But this time, I had stepped onto the same stage.

  This time, I was in the ring too.

  He hadn’t changed.

  But I had.

  This time, I wouldn’t be the fool waiting to be chosen.

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