Chante and Charles Carter

The next morning, Chantelle awoke with a newfound sense of purpose. She had always danced for herself, for the stage, for the beauty of it. But now, she realized she could share that beauty with the world.

If ballet did not exist in this kingdom, then she would be the one to introduce it.

With determination in her heart, she used her wealth and influence to establish “Chante”—a school where people of all ages could learn the art of ballet.

At first, it was met with skepticism. The nobles, ever traditional, found the idea strange. Why would one need to move in such exaggerated yet graceful ways? What purpose did it serve?

But then, they saw it.

They watched as Chantelle herself demonstrated the movements—how her body told a story with every leap, every turn. They saw how the human form could be both powerful and delicate, how one could express emotions without words.

And just like that, Chante became a phenomenon.

Noble families sent their children to train under her guidance. Scholars came to study this newfound art, and soon, “Chante” was written into the history books as a groundbreaking cultural revolution.

Within months, her name became synonymous with elegance and grace. The once “childish” Chantelle Dupont was now a respected visionary.

But success often attracted unwanted attention.

One evening, at yet another grand noble ball, Chantelle found herself amidst the swirling gowns and glittering chandeliers of the aristocracy. Conversations of politics, trade, and magic filled the air, but it wasn’t long before she caught the attention of someone new.

A man approached her with an effortless charm, his smile smooth as silk.

“Lady Chantelle Dupont,” he said, his voice like velvet, laced with amusement. “The legend herself.”

She turned to face him.

He was handsome—almost too handsome. With golden-brown hair that fell just slightly over his forehead and deep green eyes that shimmered with mischief, he looked as if he had stepped out of a romance novel.

She recognized him immediately.

Charles Carter.

A man known not only for his noble bloodline but for his role as a medical hero of Veylencia.

His family had long served as the kingdom’s greatest physicians, but Charles was more than just a doctor. He had marched onto battlefields, healing wounded soldiers and saving countless lives. A war hero in his own right, respected by warriors and adored by noblewomen.

But there was something unsettling about him.

He carried himself with an effortless confidence, his smile never faltering, his gaze steady—too steady. He was watching her like a man who had already figured her out.

Chantelle’s instincts whispered a warning.

This man is dangerous.

Not in the way Prince Harrison was—Harrison was a warrior, a ruler, a man who saw the world as a chessboard.

But Charles?

Charles was the kind of man who never played fair.

Still, she curtsied politely. “Sir Carter, it is an honor.”

His smile widened, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“The honor is mine,” he said smoothly. “I must say, you are quite different from what the rumors claimed.”

“Ah,” she said, feigning ignorance. “And what did the rumors claim?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if enjoying their little game. “Oh, nothing too unkind. Just that the young Lady Dupont was… frivolous, impulsive. Childish, even.” He chuckled. “But now, I see nothing of the sort.”

Chantelle held her smile, though her spine stiffened slightly.

“I suppose people can change, Sir Carter.”

His eyes gleamed. “Indeed. But such drastic changes…” He took a deliberate sip of his wine. “They do make one curious, don’t they?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

He was probing. Testing her.

Did he, too, suspect that she was not the same Chantelle Dupont as before?

She knew the game he was playing. And she refused to lose.

Placing a delicate hand over her heart, she smiled, her voice sweet yet firm.

“Life has a way of teaching us lessons, Sir Carter. I simply learned mine.”

Charles’ laughter was smooth and rich, yet there was an edge to it—like a blade wrapped in silk.

“I must say, Lady Chantelle,” he mused, swirling his wine. “You truly are an enigma.”

Chantelle only smiled, not willing to give him any more satisfaction.

But before she could excuse herself from the conversation, Charles leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that only she could hear.

“Tell me, have you ever considered… seeking answers about your past?”

Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her gown.

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her expression neutral.

His gaze sharpened, watching her reaction like a hunter studying prey.

“Well,” he said, voice casual, “it isn’t every day that someone wakes up from a three-year coma with no clear cause. And yet, you seem perfectly healthy—almost unnaturally so.”

Chantelle forced herself to remain composed, but inside, her mind was racing.

He was right. Why had she been in a coma for so long?

Why had she suddenly awakened with no apparent side effects?

“Perhaps it was fate,” she said lightly, attempting to brush off his words.

Charles, however, was not so easily deterred. “Or perhaps,” he murmured, “it was something else.”

A chill ran down her spine.

This man was too sharp. Too perceptive.

But… he wasn’t wrong.

If anyone could help her find the truth, it would be Charles Carter—the kingdom’s greatest doctor.

And so, with great reluctance, Chantelle made a decision.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***