Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 133: A Greeting Too Formal

[Leif’s POV — Raventon — Later That Afternoon]

The villagers’ cheers still echoed in my ears as we finished the last of the discussions.

They weren’t just supportive—they were eager.

When they learned the silk could support the village, rebuild the dam, and secure their future, every single one of them stepped forward. Old, young, n, won—All willing. All hopeful.

Turns out... they already knew the forest had cocoons.

They just never cared.

"We thought the floods washed them away every year," one villager said with a shrug. "Didn’t know they grew back like weeds."

We have been sitting on a silk empire for decades and they didn’t even blink.

Classic Raventon.

And just like that, our silk business began taking shape.

Spinning. Weaving. Trade routes. Pricing...they were all ready. Soon, we’d send the first samples to the capital and neighboring kingdoms—just like we did with the Trivium core stone.

And since we already had loyal custors. Selling high-quality silk cloth would be easy.

By the ti I reached my tent, the sun was dipping, and fatigue was hitting like a sandbag. I plopped onto my bed face-first.

"That was... really tiring," I mumbled into the blankets. "Why does being responsible require so much... responsibility?"

Zephyy, in his tiny Cat-form, crawled onto my head like a warm hat.

"Master," he said gravely, "humans were not built for labor."

"I know," I groaned. "I should’ve been born rich. Oh wait—I am. So why am I working?"

Zephyy offered no sympathy. Before I could roll off the bed entirely from exhaustion, a voice ca from outside my tent.

"My lord."

Roland.

Of course.

I didn’t even lift my head. "Co in, Roland..."

The tent flap lifted, and he stepped inside holding a large wooden jar—polished, sealed, and slling faintly of grapes and earth.

"My lord," he said, offering it with both hands, "this is the wine sample the villagers prepared for testing."

I sat up instantly, energy returning like I had just been resurrected. "Finally."

I grabbed the jar and popped the cork—POP!

A fragrant burst of rich scent filled the tent.

"Hmmm..." I inhaled deeply. "That slls... really good."

Roland nodded, approving. "Yes, my lord. The villagers said the older the wine, the richer the taste—given it’s stored at the right temperature."

I sniffed again, impressed. "It slls better than half the noble wines I’ve had."

Zephyy leaped onto the jar. "Master, master! Can I drink it?"

I stared at him. "Zephyy... you’re a dragon."

He puffed up. "A DRAGON WHO CAN HOLD HIS LIQUOR."

"I don’t believe that," I muttered.

Roland then cleared his throat. "My lord... a question."

"Hm?" I looked up.

"When are you returning?"

I blinked. "...Returning?"

He nodded slowly, arms crossed behind his back. "Yes, my lord. His Grace—Count Viktor—sent a letter. He asked that you return by tonight."

The words dropped into the tent like a stone into water.

A heavy one.

"Oh," I whispered.

Of course.

The marriage was in three days. Preparations everywhere. The estate is buzzing. The people are celebrating.

But... what was the point?

When Alvar has already let go of my hand. When he was already preparing to stop the wedding. When he doesn’t want to look at .

My fingers tightened around the wine Jar.

I forced a breath—slow, restrained, careful. "Right... Father sent word."

Roland watched quietly. He wasn’t a man who pried, but even he could see the shift in my expression. He bowed his head respectfully.

"If the marriage preparations require your presence... it would be best to leave before nightfall."

His voice was gentle. asured. But it hit anyway.

Marriage preparations.

A wedding only one of us still wanted.

I swallowed. "...Yes."

Zephyy curled around my shoulder, sensing the shift in my heartbeat. "Master... Is sothing wrong?"

I reached up and stroked his tiny head, managing a small smile. "It’s nothing."

A lie.

A soft one. But still a lie. I exhaled and set the wine jar aside. "I’ll leave after the sun sets."

Roland nodded. "As you command, my lord."

He bowed and stepped outside. The tent fell very quiet. Zephyy nudged my cheek. "Master... are you sad?"

"Sad?" I chuckled softly. "No."

But the sound ca out hollow. More like sothing breaking quietly inside my chest.

"...Let’s get ready," I whispered.

Because even if the wedding was destined to crumble—I still had to go back. I still had to face him. Even if he didn’t want anymore.

***

[Alvar’s POV — ThorenVald Estate Balcony—Night]

The night air was cold.

Not biting. Not gentle. Just... cold enough to remind I was alive. I leaned against the marble railing, swirling the wine in my glass, watching the moon drown itself in silver clouds.

Mother’s words wouldn’t leave .

"If your ti with him is short... then cherish it."

My fingers tightened around the glass.

"...Am I doing wrong?" I whispered into the wind.

I wanted to believe I wasn’t. I wanted to believe pushing him away was the right choice. A clean wound. A necessary cut. Sothing that would hurt now but heal later—When he returned to his own world.

When he forgot .

When I forgot him.

That was supposed to make it easier. But—

Mother’s voice echoed again. "Accidental wounds heal. Purposeful wounds scar."

My chest twisted.

"Scar..." I muttered. "Am I scarring him?"

The thought made the wine taste sharp on my tongue. I closed my eyes, exhaling shakily.Just one night of peace. Just one night without thinking of him —

ROAAAARRRRR!!!!

A thunderous roar ripped through the night sky, rattling the wine in my glass. My eyes snapped open. I stepped forward instinctively.

A massive silhouette cut across the moon—sleek, blue, and powerful.

Zephyy.

In his true form.

His wings glowed with faint crackles of sky-blue lightning. The wind swirled under him in spiraling waves. And on his back—

A small figure.

A familiar posture. A familiar coat fluttering. A familiar presence that hit like a blow to the ribs.

"Leif..."

His na slipped out before I could stop it. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All I could do was stand there on the balcony like a man carved from the stone beneath his feet.

Zephyy descended in a sweeping arc, sparks of azure lighting flickering off his wings. The courtyard trembled as he landed—powerful, majestic, and impossible to ignore.

And then—Leif slid down from his back. The mont his boots touched the ground, Alina bolted toward him like a cot.

"BROTHER!"

He laughed softly—softly—and ruffled her hair with that warmth he always carried so effortlessly.He greeted Father, then Mother, bowing politely with that gentle smile he gave everyone except—Except .

Because then... He looked up.

Our eyes t.

And in that single mont—I saw everything in those beautiful eyes of his.

Sadness. Resignation. Distance. The kind of distance that wasn’t physical—but chosen. No...forced by .

And before I could even breathe his na again... He tore his gaze away.

Turned.

Walked inside.

A cold turn. A quiet turn. But it hit like a blade to the chest—sharp, cruel, and unkind in a way Leif had never been to before.

Sothing inside lurched painfully.

My fist clenched. My jaw locked. "What... what is this feeling...?"

It was ugly.

Unfamiliar.

Burning.

I hated it.

I hated seeing him walk away from . I hated that he looked at like I was a stranger. I hated that I had caused it.

Without thinking, without planning, without even breathing properly—I left the balcony.

My feet moved faster than my mind. Down the hall. Past the servants. Past the lanterns flickering along the walls. Sothing in my chest was spiraling, coiling, and twisting in on itself.

I just needed to see him.

One more ti. To understand why my heart felt like it had been dropped from the top of the estate tower.

I turned the final corner—And froze.

He was there. Walking down the long hallway toward his chamber. Alone.

No Zephyy perched on him. No crimson pup tucked against his chest. No Alina following him with bright eyes.

Just him.

Just Leif.

Moving forward with quiet, heavy steps.

And then he noticed and paused. For a mont, everything in the world seed to hold its breath.

The light caught faintly in his hair. The ring on his finger glinted—mocking with the promise I was trying to break. His eyes... his eyes were calm.

Too calm.

Then—Slowly, formally—too formally—he bowed.

"Greetings, Grand Duke Alvar."

Grand Duke.

Not Alvar. Not my na. Not the way he used to say it—soft, teasing, warm, alive.

Grand Duke.

Sothing cracked inside my chest—clean through. Before I could speak, before I could reach, before I could stop him—He straightened.

Turned.

And stepped inside his chamber.

The door closed.

Not slamd.

Just shut.

Quiet.

Final.

And the hall echoed with the sound of my heartbeat—unsteady, hurt, furious, lost. I stood there, unable to move.

Unable to breathe.

Unable to bear the cold space he left behind.