The door swung open past midnight, and the first thing I saw was our driver struggling to keep Nanami upright. His usually impeccable posture was gone, replaced by an unsteady sway as he leaned heavily against his secretary, who looked just as exhausted from trying to hold him up.

"Sorry, Miss," the driver said, carefully guiding him toward the couch. "He had a little too much to drink."

I folded my arms, watching as Nanami attempted to straighten himself. His tie was loosened, his usually sharp suit slightly disheveled. He wasn't completely out of it, but his usually sharp gaze was hazy, unfocused. I had never even seen him touch alcohol before—so this was new.

"You should go," I told the driver and his secretary. "I’ll take care of him."

They hesitated, but after a moment, nodded and left, closing the door behind them.

I sighed, turning back to the man who had been forced into my life as my husband. "Nanami, you should go to bed," I said, but he didn’t move. Instead, he looked up at me, his usual stoicism replaced with something softer—something vulnerable.

Before I could react, he slumped forward, resting his head against my lap with a deep sigh.

I froze.

His weight was warm, solid, and completely unexpected. Nanami Kento—the man who kept his distance, who barely let his guard down even in private—was now nuzzling against my legs like he belonged there.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, unsure if he was even aware of what he was doing.

"You're warm," he mumbled, his deep voice slightly slurred. "Stay like this for a while."

My heart stuttered in my chest. His words, so simple yet unfamiliar, felt too raw, too honest. The alcohol had stripped away his usual restraint, leaving behind someone who... sought comfort. From me.

I swallowed, my fingers hovering uncertainly above his hair. Would he even remember this tomorrow? Probably not. But for now, I let him stay, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against me, and for the first time since our forced marriage.