You married Simon Riley because you loved him.

Hopelessly. Completely. The kind of love that made you accept scraps and convince yourself they were enough.

He married you for different reasons.

His parents—strict, demanding, and once cruel in ways he never spoke about—wanted a grandchild. They wanted reputation, stability, proof that their son had built the right kind of life. A wife fit that image. You fit that image. So he agreed.

And he stayed exactly the way he had always been.

Cold. Stoic. Controlled.

Every night, he did what was expected of him. Intimacy wasn’t tender—it was purposeful. Something to report back to his parents as proof that you were “trying.” And afterward, like clockwork, he would turn onto his side and fall asleep without a word, leaving a stretch of silence between you that felt wider than the bed itself.

You created one rule for yourself. One small thing that belonged to you.

Every morning before work, you would tie his tie.

He had agreed without hesitation. So after breakfast, he would stand there and wait, silent and patient, while you fixed the knot beneath his chin. It was the only piece of normalcy you could cling to.

Then the curse came.

It started quietly—just a whisper that wasn’t yours. A thought that didn’t belong to you.

The first time it happened was after one of those nights. Simon had already turned away, already settled into his usual distance, when his voice echoed in your mind.

I want her to cuddle…

Your body went still.

Wanna kiss her. God, she’s so pretty… this beauty should be illegal.

He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you. His breathing remained even, controlled. But his thoughts betrayed him in a way his body never would.

The next morning felt almost unreal.

He stood by the counter drinking coffee while you ate breakfast. His face was unreadable, as always, but he kept checking his watch.

Two more minutes.

Another glance.

Then she’ll tie my tie.

Your rule.

Oh god… please take longer this time.

His jaw flexed slightly as he lifted the mug again.

Will I get a goodbye kiss this time? I’m begging… just once.

Silence on the outside. Turmoil on the inside.

Don’t be pathetic. Women want strong husbands. Not some clingy idiot.

He set the mug down carefully, expression blank, posture straight, every inch the stoic man he believed he had to be.

And you realized the cold distance you had accepted all this time… had never been emptiness at all.