The Male Lead isn't Following the Script!-Chapter 297: Wait For Me, Linny
The scent of incense filled the air, a reminder of the Holy Temple’s influence. Priests and priestesses stood in attendance, their white robes pristine, their expressions unreadable.
Alaric turned his gaze away from them, scanning the hall once more.
That was when he spotted them.
The Richmond father and son duo.
They were mingling effortlessly, slipping between groups with the ease of men accustomed to high society. They laughed at the right moments, nodded at the right words.
He ignored them.
They were of no concern to him at this moment.
The ceremony was about to begin.
A hush fell over the crowd as the doors to the hall slowly opened.
And then, Annora entered.
She walked alone.
Her steps were slow, deliberate.
Her wedding gown was unlike the one she had worn in her past life—this one was hers, truly hers. Gone was the modest attire of a perfect Saintess, designed to appease the expectations of others.
Instead, she had chosen something grand, a gown that spoke of power rather than purity. The fabric gleamed under the golden light, each step sending ripples through the delicate embroidery of celestial patterns woven into it.
She had no veil.
She wanted them all to see her.
Her eyes swept across the gathered nobles, not with meekness or humility, but with amusement.
They were all staring at her.
In awe.
In curiosity.
And, from some, in wariness.
Annora smirked.
They should look. They should admire her. She deserved this.
---
The grand hall buzzed with excitement, a gathering of the most powerful figures in the Empire. The Emperor sat on his golden throne, exuding authority despite the growing impatience on his face. The Empress, adorned in extravagant jewels, sat beside him, her fingers twitching against her armrest.
Every inch of the hall gleamed with extravagant decorations, shimmering gold draperies, and rare white roses imported from distant lands. She had spared no expense in welcoming her daughter-in-law into the imperial family.
The Dukes and Duchesses filled the front rows, their elegant attire shimmering under the chandelier’s golden glow. The Third Prince sat at the front, composed but keenly watching the events unfold. Beside him, the Imperial Concubine, a woman with sharp eyes and a quiet presence, watched the proceedings with a faint smirk.
Everyone who mattered was here.
Except one person.
The man of the hour.
Cassian.
A hushed murmur spread through the hall like wildfire. The nobles exchanged glances, their whispers growing bolder as the realization settled in.
Where was the groom?
The Emperor’s fingers tightened against his throne. His expression darkened, his patience running thin.
"This is outrageous," he finally muttered, his voice sending a ripple of unease through the crowd.
Annora, however, remained calm. Her smile did not falter.
She refused to be fazed.
She could already envision him walking through those doors at the last possible moment, dressed in his finest, the entire hall falling silent as he took his place beside her.
This was part of his plan.
He needed this marriage as much as she did. He wouldn’t throw away everything they had worked for.
No.
He would come.
He had to.
So she waited.
And waited.
Minutes passed.
The Emperor’s patience thinned. The hall filled with whispers, the nobles exchanging glances. Some smirked in amusement, while others—particularly those in the Third Prince’s faction—looked far too pleased.
Annora clenched her fingers, but her smile remained.
Still, he would come.
He had to. Her nails dug into her palms, she could feel the wetness on her hands... She was bleeding, but it did not matter. She healed herself, but she pierced herself again. It became a vicious cycle of pain... And only this kept her sane and not lose her mind to the humiliation she suffered.
Yet, as the moments stretched, the whispers grew louder. Minutes passed. Then more.
The Emperor’s fury became palpable. His knuckles turned white against the throne.
"Where is Cassian?" he demanded.
Silence.
The air was thick with tension.
Annora’s bloodied hand curled slightly against her gown. The weight of their gazes—pity from some, amusement from others—was starting to sink in.
---
Cassian stood before a full-length mirror, adjusting his cuffs.
He smiled at his reflection.
Dressed in the finest royal attire, he examined himself in the mirror with quiet satisfaction.
He had chosen black.
A deliberate choice.
Because he remembered.
Adeline had once told him that black suited him best.
He had always liked the way her gaze lingered on him when he wore dark colours.
The golden accents embroidered into his attire shimmered under the candlelight, enhancing the sharp angles of his features. He looked regal. Powerful. He smiled faintly at the memory of Adeline while brushing a hand over the embroidered golden accents.
Perfect.
His icy blue eyes scanned his room one last time.
And then, they landed on his desk.
The letters.
Neatly stacked, tied with a ribbon.
Each one signed with a single letter—Mr. O.
A name that had served him well.
For a brief moment, his expression softened.
For so long, he had kept Adeline close through words, through letters filled with thoughts and secrets that no one else knew.
He had been her confidant, her unseen supporter.
And she had been his.
A part of him wondered—if she had known it was him all along, would things have been different?
Either way, he wouldn’t need them anymore.
He had won.
Everything had come to fruition.
Adeline and Benedict—once inseparable—had grown so distant that there was no longer a shred of loyalty between them.
Adeline would never choose Benedict over him again.
Never.
Cassian smirked, adjusting his cuffs.
He picked up the bundle of letters, running his fingers over the inked words one last time. He carefully hid them away. This would always be between Adeline and him. No one else could lay their hands on them.
Adeline was unaware of what was about to come her way. The First Prince had abandoned his wedding and sought her out.
"Wait for me... Linny." Cassian whispered as he got onto his horse.
