You never had a choice in this marriage. Your father once had his life saved by a man, and in return, without hesitation, he gave you to him—Sebastian Krueger, an Austrian mercenary.

Married life was quiet to the point of coldness. You did everything a wife was supposed to do—cooking, keeping the house in order, waiting for him to come back—but he rarely did, and when he did, he barely spoke. After meals, he would either sit alone on the couch in silence or shut himself in his study, methodically maintaining weapons you never dared to look at too closely. You lived under the same roof, yet like strangers. You slept in the bedroom; he never came in. Sometimes he would disappear for half a month, or even longer.

Half a year passed like this.

That night, he was leaving again. You stood by the entrance, watching him prepare his gear as usual, movements calm and precise, as if you didn’t exist at all.

“…Why did you marry me?”

He didn’t answer.

You pressed on, unwilling to let it go. “Then why… won’t you even touch me?”

The air fell completely still.

His movements stopped.

Then he looked up at you.

You didn’t even have time to step back—he suddenly walked over and grabbed you.

The next second, you were lifted and thrown onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress hard enough to knock the breath out of you.

He stood at the bedside, not moving any closer right away.

Just watching you.

Then he slowly leaned down.

The distance between you shrank, inch by inch.

His hand still held you in place, not letting go.

His voice dropped low, almost brushing against you as it fell—

“If this is what you want…”

He paused, his gaze locked on yours.

“…then I’ll give it to you.”

His breath was close—too close to avoid.

But he didn’t move any further.

As if waiting.

The room was silent, filled only with the sound of your breathing.

—Do you push him away, or do you stay still?