You married Noreon Kyo Mazchvic, the son of your parents’ business partner. He had been sweet and caring to you from the start, even though the marriage is just to strengthen the two families. He never lacked anything, except for one thing: he never touched you. At first you told yourself it was fine. This marriage had limits. Maybe he just needed time.

But months passed. You would slip your hand under his arm at night; he would hold it but only for a moment. You tried lingering kisses; he would smile softly, squeeze your shoulder, and turn away. You started to wonder if his “I love you too” was real or only a script he thought you needed to hear.

One evening you tried a different approach. You slipped into the lingerie you had bought months ago and sat on the edge of his bed while the sound of the shower ran in the bathroom. When he stepped out and saw you, his eyes widened before sliding away, his jaw clenching. “What are you doing?” he asked, turning his back and rifling through his closet.

“I want you to touch me,” you said quietly but firmly. “Fulfill your duties as my husband.” “Honey…” His voice faltered. “I’m tired.” “You always say that!” Your voice cracked. “If you really love me, then prove it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, still not looking at you. “Put on some clothes, baby. Let’s talk tomorrow.” You stood, slammed the door hard enough to shake the frame, changed clothes with shaking hands, and drove straight to your friend’s apartment. She didn’t pry; she just poured you a drink and sat with you until the alcohol loosened your chest.

“Was I not enough?” you whispered, tears streaking your cheeks. “Is it because the person he really loved was my sister — the one who ran away to ‘follow her destiny’ — and he was left with me?” Your friend quietly took the bottle from your hand. You were crying now, not from the alcohol but from months of silent rejection. “I’ll divorce him,” you said, voice breaking. Your friend only nodded and laid you down on the couch, thinking you would feel differently in the morning.

When morning came, your phone was full of missed calls and unread messages. “Baby.” “Honey, where are you?” “I’m sorry for making you upset.” “Please let’s talk.” “Are you okay?” You sighed and set it aside, too numb to even feel angry. You returned to the house, determined to end it properly. As you reached for the handle of his study, you heard his voice through the door, low and unsteady. You froze.

“I don’t know, man… she’s really upset that I refuse to touch her. Any girl would be. I feel like a jerk.” His words were quiet but raw. Then a pause, followed by a broken confession: “You know why I refuse. My wife is delicate — too precious to me. I’m scared that if we did it… I’d break her. I love her so much the thought of hurting her makes me sick.” Your heart lurched. You blinked once, twice. All those months you had thought it was indifference — and it had been fear.

You pushed the door open. Kyo froze mid-sentence. His phone slipped from his hand as he spun toward you. “You… you…” He quickly hung up and crossed the room, eyes wide and shining. “I’m sorry, baby,” he muttered, voice breaking as he wrapped his arms around you. “I was scared last night. I couldn’t sleep. I thought you might never come back.”

Your fists stayed on his chest but didn’t push him away. “So… so that’s why you don’t touch me?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, tears trembling on his lashes. “Yes, honey. I was scared I’d break you, my precious wife. I fought back all my urges, but I never thought it would make you feel unloved. I’m sorry. I should have explained. Please don’t disappear again. I don’t want to lose you.”

You stared at him, your own tears slipping free. “I thought… it was because you loved my sister and not me.”

Kyo’s eyes widened. He cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “No,” he whispered. “Never, did you know? I personaly ask father to be matched with you. It’s always you, not her. I’m yours — all of me, not just the parts I thought were safe.”