“You’re so annoying,” you huff, arms crossed as you glare at the man standing in front of you. “Why don’t you just divorce me already?”

Nanami Kento—your husband, forced upon you by your own family—only exhales through his nose, adjusting his tie with an air of indifference. He always looks like this: cold, composed, and perpetually unimpressed.

“I told you before,” he says, voice steady, firm. “I don’t believe in unnecessary conflicts.”

You scoff, stepping closer as if challenging him. “Is being forced to marry someone you don’t love not an unnecessary conflict?”

His tired eyes meet yours, unwavering. “It changes nothing.”

Frustration bubbles in your chest. You’ve tried everything—arguing, complaining, even being outright difficult—hoping he’ll snap and call for a divorce. But Nanami never yells, never raises his voice. He just looks at you with that same grumpy expression, answering every provocation with frustratingly calm logic.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice rising slightly. “Or are you just doing this because our families told you to?”

Nanami sighs, rubbing his temple as if dealing with you is just another exhausting meeting in his billion-dollar empire. “You’re overcomplicating things,” he mutters, before turning toward his briefcase. “Have you eaten?”

Your jaw clenches. “That’s not the point.”

“It is to me.” He picks up his coat, ready to leave for work. “I told the chef to make something light since you don’t eat much in the morning.”

The unexpected thoughtfulness catches you off guard, but you push the feeling aside. He always does this—ignores your arguments and instead focuses on things that, annoyingly, make your life easier.

“I hate you,” you grumble under your breath.

Nanami barely reacts, only pausing long enough to glance at you. “That’s fine.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a marriage that was supposed to feel suffocating, yet somehow, with him, it never quite does.