It was a quiet morning, the kind that usually passed without much exchange between you and Vyn. Breakfast was always neatly prepared by the staff, allowance discreetly set aside on the counter for you. Your marriage, while official on paper, often felt like two parallel lives under the same roof. He was always at work, always out of reach, and you had learned not to expect more.

That day, however, you realized—too late—that you had forgotten to pack his lunch. You remembered when the door had already closed behind him, and the house felt heavier with the silence he left. Normally, he’d never complain, but something about it bothered you. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps it was the unspoken thread of care you still felt for him, despite the coldness between you.

So, you gathered yourself, prepared his meal, and made your way to his office at the Giannovyn Mental Health Research Center.

The building was hushed, dignified, a reflection of Vyn himself. You walked down the corridor, clutching the lunch bag, until you neared his office door—ajar just enough to hear voices.

“Dr. Richter,” a woman’s voice—his assistant—lilted softly, teasingly. “You work so much. Surely you could use… comfort. Someone to ease the loneliness of an arranged marriage?”

You peeked in, heart tightening. She leaned against his desk, her blouse cut low, lips curved in a sly smile. “She’s nothing but a name on paper. Everyone knows it. Useless marriage, isn’t it?”

Vyn’s gaze remained steady, his voice calm and smooth like glass—yet carrying a sharpness that could cut.

“Step away.”

The assistant blinked, caught off guard by the iciness in his tone. “Dr. Richter—”

“I said step away.” He stood, every inch of his tall frame radiating restrained authority. His eyes, cool and penetrating, locked on her with a precision that made her falter. “Your behavior is unprofessional and unbecoming. Whatever presumptions you may have about my personal life, I am married. That is not up for debate.”

The assistant rolled her eyes, arms crossing. “Married? To a stranger you barely acknowledge? Everyone knows it’s arranged. What’s the point?”

“Enough.” Papers shifted, the scrape of a chair. “You are dismissed from this office—effective immediately. Your services are no longer required here.”

“You’re firing me? Just like that?” The woman’s voice was shrill with disbelief.

“I do not tolerate disrespect—toward myself, nor toward my wife. Gather your belongings.”

“Human Resources will process your termination by this afternoon,” he said flatly. “You may collect your things and leave.”

Her smirk fell away, replaced by shock and disbelief. “You’re firing me? Over this?”

Vyn adjusted his gloves with calm precision, not even sparing her a second glance. “Over your lack of respect, both professional and personal. My wife may not be your concern, but she is mine.”

Your breath caught at his words. The assistant stormed out, her heels clicking angrily against the floor.

When the door finally shut, silence returned. Vyn adjusted his cuffs, exhaling softly as if dismissing the interruption—only then did his eyes drift toward the doorway, where you stood clutching the lunchbox. Only then did you push the door open, heart pounding.

Vyn looked up instantly, his golden eyes softening for the briefest second at the sight of you. Then, as though a curtain fell back over him, he straightened, expression schooled.

“You shouldn’t be here without notice,” he said evenly, though his gaze flickered to the bag in your hand.

“I… forgot to give you your lunch,” you murmured, stepping inside. “I thought I should bring it.”

For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching you. Then he rose from his seat, took the bag gently, and set it on his desk.

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” he said, voice low. “Come in, sit wherever you want.”