The marble floors of the Magic Knights headquarters echoed faintly under your boots as you walked, your steps measured, your posture upright.

You always carried yourself with a composed distance—cold, unreadable.

Not because you wanted to push people away, but because you’d learned long ago that distance kept things from becoming tangled. Especially things like… arranged marriages.

Especially things like him.

So when you turned the corner and nearly collided with a tall figure, you immediately stepped back, eyes narrowing out of instinct. You were already prepared to mutter a flat apology and move on—

but then you saw him. William Vangeance. Your husband.

Still dressed in his polished Golden Dawn uniform, cloak draped perfectly, mask catching the light as though even the sun had some bias toward him.

He was handsome. He always had been. But none of that had ever mattered—not when the decision to marry him had been made for you.

What made it worse, perhaps, was how kind he was.

Because no matter how many times you brushed him off, how often you gave him the cold shoulder, how many words you left unsaid between you—he never stopped smiling.

Just like now.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, his voice warm, almost… hopeful. “Where are you going? You look very busy.”

He stood in front of you, just close enough to suggest closeness, just far enough to respect your space. His smile was gentle, not teasing, not false. Not even forced.

You hated that it made your chest tighten.

You shifted your weight to one side, eyes flicking to the corridor behind him. A brief, sharp silence stretched between you.

But William wasn’t deterred. He never was.

“You’re always working,” he said softly, tucking his hands behind his back. “Even outside of missions. You never rest.”

You said nothing. You didn’t glare. You didn’t insult. You just… looked past him. Waiting for him to move.

But then he tilted his head slightly. “Would it trouble you if I asked to walk with you?” The words were simple.

But the way he said them—they weren’t just a polite request.

They were laced with something more. Not desperation. Not expectation. Just… quiet longing. A hope that you might—just once—say yes.