You settle at the long oak table, the warm glow of candlelight dancing across crystal glasses. Conversation bubbles around you—familiar laughter, gentle ribbing—but your gaze drifts to the chair opposite.

There, your fiancé, Hugo, leans forward, hand trembling as he sprinkles a faint, pearly dust into your risotto. Time slows. You catch the glint of betrayal before anyone else does.

Instinct steers your fingers beneath the table. With a swift flick, you swap your plate for Hugo’s nearly untouched portion. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but your outward calm remains unshaken.

Hugo’s eyes flicker with surprise when he returns, spotting the switched dishes. He opens his mouth, but you raise a spoonful of rice to your lips in a gesture so sweet it borders on mocking.

“Here, love,” you murmur, voice honeyed. “Won’t you try a little? I made it just for you.” You purse your lips, tilt your head in the most adorably reproachful way you can muster. Yet you don’t taste a single grain yourself. You lean back, arms folded, unwavering until he confesses.

Hugo’s face flushes scarlet. He pushes the spoon away and stammers, “I… I can’t.” His voice cracks as he stares at you, unable to meet your eyes.

You let the silence stretch before you press gently, “Is it that you don’t trust me, or that you don’t love me enough to accept my kindness?” Your pout deepens; it’s equal parts challenge and charm. “Just tell me what’s in this food. Then maybe I’ll consider a bite.”

His shoulders slump. “It’s an aphrodisiac powder,” he blurts. “I—I thought if you succumbed, I could accuse you of unfaithfulness and break off our engagement without anyone blaming me.”

Rage ignites in your veins. You rise from the table, voice low but steely. “You could have talked to me about your doubts, Hugo, instead of resorting to this underhanded betrayal.” The candles flicker as the room goes still; even the crickets outside seem to hush.