The words exploded from Oliver's lips, as sharp as shrapnel.

"What was your plan, after all?" He turned abruptly, unable to face her. The heat of his fury was almost palpable, evident in his labored breathing.

"My plan?" Sofia's voice trembled, brimming with frustration about to overflow. Their gazes met, sparks flying in the fierce battle. "You dare question my actions after what I witnessed?"

Oliver clenched his fists, his words dripping with desolation. "There was no need to take things so far! What did you expect to achieve? To push him to the limit?"

"You brought him back!" Sofia stepped forward, eyes blazing. "I tried to be understanding, but you just don't respect boundaries, do you?"

A roar erupted from Oliver's throat, shaking the space between them. "I'm sick of boundaries! I've been confined in a bubble my entire life. Never allowed myself a single moment of impulsiveness, of freedom. Never."

The coldness in Sofia's voice made the air suffocating. "And yet, you have the power to change anything with a snap of your fingers. But you must consider the consequences, Oliver."

"What are you implying?" He narrowed his eyes, defiant.

"I'm saying, Your Majesty," the title sounded like a sharp taunt, "that you now have a family. You can't ignore us in your selfish bubble anymore."

"Don't use sarcasm with me." Oliver's harshness was echoed by the exhausted sigh Sofia let out, as if their souls were both tormented. "I'm not a reckless child anymore. You know I would never let anything lack for you. This accusation is unfounded."

Sofia stared at him, stubbornness etched in her eyes. "Don't underestimate me. I know you can hardly wait to be rid of me."

The intensity of Oliver's anger dissolved into a contemplative sigh. His voice softened into a whisper of appeasement.

"Sofia, be honest: are you happy like this? Do you believe your destiny is to live with someone incapable of truly loving you?"

She hesitated, a silent tear glistening in her eyes before they met his, overflowing with raw sadness. "You can't deny we have good moments, Oliver. We talk, we have Lily..."

"Is that enough for you? Just conversations?" He approached cautiously, his insistence gentle yet impetuous. "A bond we will always share doesn't answer if you're truly happy with the fantasy we play out daily."

"It's not a fantasy, Oliver! Lily is real, not part of any theater!" Sofia retorted, but her rhetoric sounded empty against his growing impatience.

"That's not what I meant." He interrupted her, throwing more truths against her inconsistent arguments. "You know my love for her is genuine and greater than anything. I'm talking about us."

Sofia exhaled a weary sigh, her graceful movements leading her to settle into the armchair that stood out in her room like a point of elegance amid the wreckage.

"Maybe there was a chance... if you at least tried." Sofia's voice trembled, exposing her vulnerability.

Oliver let out a bitter laugh, a lament disguised as desperation. "True love can't be forced. It grows and blossoms naturally, without impositions. If you had ever truly experienced it..." His voice faded as he met her piercing gaze, laden with a harsh truth she struggled to accept.

"This shouldn't be a surprise." Sofia's bitter irony gave way to resignation.

"You know I can't reciprocate those feelings." Guilt punctuated Oliver's words. She shrugged, a simple gesture amid their conflicting hearts. Kneeling down, he took her hands in his. "I really tried, but there are insurmountable barriers within me. I'm not straight, Sofia. Not even bisexual."

"But we... made love so many times." Sofia stumbled over the words, trying to comprehend. "I know it takes at least a trace of attraction to... keep things working."

"Well..." Oliver hesitated, and she didn't wait.

"You thought of him all the time," Sofia stated, sadness carving her delicate features. "That's... humiliating."

The confession hung in the air, an exposed wound. Oliver's eyes met hers, filled with an ancient pain that would never fully heal.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to say." Oliver sought her hands again, hoping that touch would bring some comfort. "You don't deserve this. You're brilliant, Sofia, you deserve someone who can desire you wholly, body and soul."

"You don't understand. It's not that simple." She hesitated, struggling to release the imprisoned words.

"Then explain to me," he pleaded, letting go of her hands to sit on the floor, seeking guidance in her expression.

Sofia sighed, her gaze lost on the ceiling, perhaps looking for answers that even the stars couldn't provide. "I don't want to stay with you just for convenience or because of the throne. I don't want to lose you."

"I was never truly yours." The tenderness in Oliver's words didn't soften the sharp hopelessness overflowing from his eyes. "It's a mistake to think of loss in this context."

A thread of hope permeated her tone. "For Lily, couldn't we try again?"

He shook his head gently, imbued with serene conviction. "Lily will be loved unconditionally, no matter what happens. She will be fine, I promise. And as for you, there's no need to leave England; you can stay here, even in the castle if you prefer. We will both be close to her, and that's infinitely better than destroying ourselves bit by bit."

"But what will people say?" The concern she had feared to express finally emerged.

"Does that really matter?" Oliver's eyes gleamed with a refractory intensity. "You said you never got deeply involved with anyone else. If you remain attached to the illusionary idea you have of me, nothing will change. Sometimes things go wrong, that's life. But is it worth living a marriage that will only bring suffering for fear of what people will say?"

Suddenly, his words resonated with overwhelming clarity, illuminating her path ahead. Oliver knew exactly what he needed to do — he couldn't bear another moment in that suffocating misery.

"I'm sorry, Sofia, but I can't waste any more time." His determination was unwavering as he observed the apprehension in her eyes. "Let's not turn this into a bigger battle than it needs to be. As I said, nothing needs to change in how we relate. But I won't pretend to be a happy and devoted husband anymore."

"But Oliver..." Sofia slid from the armchair, kneeling before him and holding his hands in a final desperate attempt. "You know your life will be dissected publicly. With me, you'll be safe."

Oliver's eyes burned with an unquenchable flame.

"Safe? That golden cage has never protected me from anything but my own happiness." He retorted, frustrated. "I can't live this farce any longer, Sofia. It would be an injustice to both of us."

"So, you'll just run back to his arms, won't you?" Sofia averted her gaze to their joined hands as Oliver caressed her palm with comforting circular motions.

"My feelings for Ian have never been a secret." The gentleness in Oliver's voice didn't soften the pain reflected in his eyes. "I know you nurtured hopes of keeping me close with the dream of a perfect family, but we were never that. Not a single day passed without me loving him deeply, Sofia. Please, don't punish me for being honest."

"I know." She exhaled, resigned. "I don't want to punish anyone. Your happiness is Lily's too, and I certainly can't force you into anything; after all, you are the king." She emphasized, and Oliver resisted rolling his eyes. "Just... don't act on impulse. There's much more at stake than our doomed marriage."

"Don't worry." He reassured her with a hopeful smile, touching her face with tender delicacy. "I'll do everything right this time. We'll be fine."

◃───────────▹

Oliver was seated in the guest room of Windsor Castle, a glass of the refined Macallan 25-Year-Old in hand, as he watched the ceaseless crackling of the fireplace before him.

The room was imbued with an almost ethereal aura — the orange and golden flames danced gracefully, casting ethereal shadows on the ancient stone walls. The scent of burning wood, mingled with the aroma of the whiskey, created an almost intoxicating atmosphere, a kind of melancholic refuge where he could lose himself in his thoughts.

The events of that tumultuous day still reverberated in his mind like echoes in a vast empty hall. The confrontation with Sofia, the painful revelation of Ian's departure, all contributed to the crushing weight of feeling manipulated, of having his life decided by forces beyond his comprehension.

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dispel the suffocating sensation of desolation that enveloped him.

Ian had left an indelible mark on his soul. That petulant advisor, with his shrewd manner and penetrating gaze, had dismantled the walls Oliver had erected over the years. Ian had filled every corner of his being with an intensity that both scared and fascinated him in equal measure.

The love Oliver felt for him was like a tropical fire, burning with relentless ferocity. And yet, Ian's absence left him empty, as if something vital had been ripped from his core.

Every detail, every memory shared with Ian, was still vivid — especially the t-shirt he wore in Hampstead, imbued with his unmistakable smell. That piece of fabric was a totem of memories, an anchor that kept him connected to the past. And on lonely, cold nights like this one, Oliver took refuge in the bittersweetness of Ian's favorite whiskey, drowning his sorrows in generous gulps, as if he could drink away the pain.

When he allowed himself to create narratives in his mind, they were always fairy tales where, somehow, the two of them ended up together, defying conventions and expectations. But reality was never so kind. The harshness of choices loomed like an impenetrable wall, and Oliver wondered if he would have the courage to overcome it.

The intensity of the flames in the fireplace seemed to reflect Oliver's internal turmoil.

He felt trapped, a puppet in the grand theater of real life. Expectations, commitments, duties — all of it weighed him down like an iron armor. Only with Ian had he found relief, a freedom to be himself, purely and authentically, even if hidden behind four walls.

He took a sip of the whiskey, closing his eyes as the liquid warmth flowed down his throat.

The memories of their last encounters were still so alive, so tangible.

Ian's touch, the comfort in his gaze, the silent complicity between them—all of it made his absence seem even more unbearable.

Sofia's words echoed in his mind, a dark warning:

"You know your life will be publicly dissected. With me, you'll be safe."

But how safe would he be if he lost himself? How long could he endure living in this oppressive dynamic until he became irreparably bitter?

With a deep sigh, Oliver watched the dancing flames with newfound determination. He knew he needed to act, to seek the happiness he so longed for. However, the path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in dense fog and relentless judgment.

The strong knocks on the door tore through the feverish silence of Oliver's room, dragging him out of his alcoholic reverie and back to painful reality. With a hoarse voice, the result of countless ill-digested sips of whiskey, he murmured:

"Come in."

The door creaked and slowly opened, revealing Laura.

She entered with notable hesitation; her expression laden with an unfathomable sadness that immediately pierced Oliver's heart. The tightening in his chest grew, the certainty that her visit brought bad news hitting him like a punch to the gut.

Wasting no time on formal greetings, Laura locked the door behind her and walked to the armchair by the fireplace. She sat there, the silence between them not just complicit but also deafening. Oliver averted his gaze from Laura, focusing on the fire where the flames flickered erratically, a perfect reflection of his internal torment.

"Did you know?" The question escaped Oliver under his breath. He continued staring at the flames, avoiding her gaze. "That leaving was his choice?"

Laura sighed deeply, lines of compassion forming on her face.

"No," her tone was soft but resolute. "He didn't tell me much about moving to Spain. I just know he was eager to leave England."

Each word from Laura was like a sharp knife thrust into Oliver's chest, forcing him to confront a truth he preferred to avoid. He nodded slowly, trying to digest the information with painful effort.

"He didn't tell you why?" Oliver's voice became urgent, revealing his latent fragility.

He needed answers, something that could make his incoherent world make sense again.

"I think you know why," Laura said bluntly, her frankness delivering a direct blow to what remained of Oliver's composure.

He took a deep breath, the rough air burning in his lungs as the agitation within him grew.

"I feel like an idiot," he confessed, his voice a whisper as if the words were a breaking chain. He took another sip of whiskey, the burn momentarily replacing the consuming sorrow.

Laura, unable to contain her curiosity and concern for much longer, asked:

"What the hell happened earlier, Ollie?" Her voice was a mix of frustration and genuine concern. "Ian told me he was at the airport, and suddenly, he was here, with you and Sofia."

"It was my fault," Oliver admitted, his voice trembling as he avoided the sordid details, fearing that the naked truth would only confirm his mediocrity. His fingers traced a frenetic pattern on the edge of the crystal glass, echoing the chaos in his mind. "I called him back. I offered him the position of my personal assistant." His brief, bitter laugh reverberated, sorrow etched into every syllable. "Actually, I begged him to stay."

"Oliver." Laura's whisper carried a buttery reproach, but she didn't need to say more.

"I know." He responded quickly, shame a poison in his veins. "I was a selfish jerk. I thought I could use the power of my title to convince him, make him believe that coming back to this hell was a sensible idea." He finally turned to face her. A sad smile that didn't reach his eyes contorted his lips, marked by pain and regret. "He was one step away from saying yes."

"It wasn't exactly that kind of power you used, Oliver." Laura's voice was soft, but her words cut deep. "Ian is in love with you. He would do anything you asked, sensible or not."

Tears filled Oliver's eyes, distorting his vision of Laura — she, who resembled Ian so much that looking at her was like constant agony. Every feature on her face, every expression, an unbearable reminder.

"How is he?" The question escaped before he could restrain it, and Oliver looked away again, dreading the answer.

"Terrible," Laura said, her voice tinged with melancholic kindness, as if she wanted to soften the devastating blow. "He's convinced you hate him."

Oliver rolled his eyes, incredulous, as his emotions battled within him. The pain mixed with confusion pulsated in every corner of his mind.

"I'm disappointed, that's true." He murmured, shoulders slumped. "But hate... hate is something I've never felt for him, Laura."

A deep sigh escaped Laura's lips, the air around her heavy with palpable gravity. Oliver knew, in that moment, that the next words would be decisive.

"Look, Oliver," Laura began, and her words fell upon Oliver like sharp daggers, tearing through the layers of denial he had so carefully built over the years. She fixed her hazel eyes on his, the intensity of her gaze challenging him to confront the truth. "I didn't want to be the one to confront you, but it seems Ian is too weak for you to do it. So... it's time for you to decide once and for all. Either you fight for him, or you let him go."

The impact of that ultimatum hit Oliver like a physical blow.

He felt the air being sucked from his lungs, surprise washing over his expression, revealing the growing apprehension that spread through his guts. Every syllable Laura uttered dismantled the layers of denial that Oliver had fought so hard to maintain.

"Your story is destructive." Laura's voice was soft as silk, cruelly contrasting with the brutality of her words. "I haven't seen much of my brother in four years, and when I have, he was a wreck, completely destroyed."

Oliver blinked repeatedly, as if the movement could dispel the ruthless truths echoing in his mind.

When he thought he couldn't bear more pain, Laura struck again:

"The only person who really knows Ian better than I do is you. And the routine he's built to escape this pain is tearing him apart inside."

Oliver's mouth opened, but the words refused to take shape.

The silence that followed was haunting, crushing, as he struggled to process the magnitude of what he had just heard.

"Don't take it the wrong way, Oliver. I adore you. My entire family adores you," Laura continued, and her voice now was imbued with a compassion that only made the torment more intolerable. "But if I have to challenge you and your majesty for Ian to be happy, I won't hesitate for a second."

Oliver swallowed hard.

The anguish was so deep, so visceral, that he could barely breathe. How could he make such a monumental decision? How to choose between fighting for the man he loved more than anything or freeing him from the suffering his mere existence seemed to inflict?

"You have no idea how much I wish I knew how, Laura," Oliver confessed, his voice cracking with a raw and ruthless sincerity. Every word was a struggle to emerge, an extraordinary effort to give expression to the feelings that consumed him. "Either one thing or the other."

At that moment, Oliver felt more lost than ever, torn by indecision.

The love he harbored for Ian was a primordial force, rooted so deeply in his being that the idea of fighting for him seemed like the only possible path. However, how could he be so selfish as to keep Ian chained to an endless cycle of torment? How could he deprive Ian of the happiness he so deserved, even if it meant tearing a vital part of himself away?

Bitter tears began to slide down Oliver's face, leaving salty trails that marked his skin like scars. Each drop was a silent lament, a muffled cry of anguish in the face of the impasse that stood as an insurmountable wall. His heart fractured, divided between the deep love he devoted to Ian and the desire to free him from the torment that his own existence seemed to inflict.

With a Herculean effort, Oliver raised his eyes to meet Laura's. In them, he saw reflected not only the compassion of a sister but also the pain of witnessing the slow and relentless destruction of someone so beloved.

It was at that moment that Oliver grasped the true magnitude of his choice, as if struck by a bolt of clarity.

Oliver felt as if he were imprisoned in a labyrinth, each path leading to an even more tortuous crossroads. He knew that the decision to let Ian go would be the most heartbreaking of his life, but at the same time, Laura's words echoed in his mind as an undeniable truth — his love for Ian had become a destructive force, trapping them in an endless cycle of suffering.

As he pondered the implications of this choice, Oliver couldn't help but turn his thoughts to Lily, the little ray of sunshine that illuminated his existence beyond Ian. How could he separate from Sofia without tarnishing the innocence of his daughter? Lily was so pure, so unaware of all this emotional turmoil that threatened to consume their family.

The idea of seeing her suffer because of his own mistakes was unthinkable.

The dark specter of public judgment also haunted him. Oliver knew that his position as heir to the throne would bring unwanted attention, and he couldn't bear the thought that his royal commitments might become an additional burden for Ian to carry.

Amid so many doubts and concerns, Oliver realized that he had not acted correctly, allowing himself to be driven by selfishness and the desire to have Ian back, even if it meant imprisoning him in a living hell.

Now, faced with the crossroads that Laura presented to him, Oliver knew he needed to find the strength to overcome his own fears and insecurities. He needed to understand that, as painful as it was, the only way to truly love Ian was to set him free, to allow him to find the happiness he deserved, even if it meant letting go of the love of his life.