Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 526

What?

For a heartbeat, Heinz thought he'd misheard.

"Florian, that's not—" He started, the words poised to strike, but then his eyes caught Florian's expression.

The slight tremor in his lips, the sheen of fresh tears clinging to his lashes, the fragile way he leaned into Leticia's embrace.

And Heinz stopped himself.

'That's not even your family.'

The truth hung bitter on his tongue, unsaid but burning. He wanted to snap it out, to drag Florian back to his side and strip away the illusion.

But something—something in the way Florian's gaze darted to him, pleading, silenced him.

Something was off.

Terribly off.

His Florian wasn't supposed to look at him like that. Wide-eyed.

Guarded. Almost… distant.

And the tears—gods, the tears that had come so suddenly, spilling the moment that woman touched him. Suspicion gnawed at Heinz, whispering foul possibilities.

'Did they do something to him?'

His jaw tightened, but his hands froze at his sides. No matter how much he wanted to pull Florian away, to snatch him back and shield him from those hands, he couldn't.

Not here. Not now. Not when the entire ballroom watched with hawk-like eyes.

Not when this was supposed to be his and Florian's night.

He had waited so long for this day, for this moment with Florian by his side. He couldn't ruin it by lashing out now.

So Heinz swallowed his fury. Nodded once, stiff and reluctant.

"I'll go speak with the other dukes," he said evenly, though his voice carried an edge sharp enough to cut.

And before stepping away, he reached out, cupping Florian's cheek in his palm. The caress was soft, but the weight behind it was iron—an unspoken claim, a warning, and perhaps a desperate reassurance all at once.

"Don't forget about our dance later," he whispered, the words meant only for Florian's ears.

When he pulled back, he didn't miss the smug curve of Kazaria's lips. It made his blood boil.

Heinz turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he walked away, his fists curling so tightly his knuckles ached. Every step away from Florian felt heavier, the questions clawing deeper.

Brows furrowed, he forced his expression back into one of calm nobility, but inside, the storm raged.

'I don't like the feeling of this.'

Heinz's steps echoed faintly across the marble as he forced himself forward, jaw tight, shoulders squared.

Each stride was measured, deliberate, as though he could pace the storm inside him into silence.

The weight of countless eyes trailed him still, whispers threading through the air like gnats biting at exposed skin.

But he ignored them. He had to.

He would let it go.

For now.

He would speak with the dukes, smooth over appearances, remind them all of the strength and dignity of his crown.

He would not allow Floramatria's queen or her daughter to strip control from him—not in his own halls, not tonight.

And above all, he would ignore the sight of Hendrix and Monica lingering near the far column.

Their silhouettes caught in the corner of his vision like thorns, sharp and poisonous. He refused to give them the satisfaction of a glance.

One controlled step at a time. That was all.

He had nearly reached where the dukes had gathered when a sound cut clean through the hum of the ballroom—

A clearing of a throat. Deliberate. Low. Demanding his attention.

Heinz halted mid-stride, boots scraping faintly against polished marble as he stilled. Slowly, he turned his head.

There, half-shrouded by the shadows of a carved marble pillar, stood a man he had not expected to see alone.

Asher.

Florian's father. No—the original Florian's father.

His presence carried a quiet weight, dignified in its restraint. His posture was poised, shoulders straight, hands folded behind his back.

Even the years had not dimmed him. There was still youth in his face, ageless beauty tempered by the hard edges of experience.

For a fleeting moment, Heinz thought—not without envy—that Florian would one day carry this same grace, age into the same effortless allure.

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