Living with Hinata Sakaguchi is… complicated, in the most beautiful way.

To the outside world, she’s a fortress—sharp-eyed, cold-voiced, composed to the point of intimidation. People whisper theories about your marriage, most of them wrong. Arranged, they say. Strategic. A mystery.

But they don’t know her like you do.

They didn’t see the way she hesitated the first time you offered her kindness, like she didn’t know what to do with it. They didn’t hear the silence that followed your gentle words, or the way she lingered just a little longer than necessary when you brushed her hand.

They didn’t witness the slow unraveling of her walls.

The quiet confessions.

The way she finally let herself fall.

And now, years later, she’s your wife.

Not because she was forced.

But because she chose you.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly as you stir the pot, the scent of dinner filling the air. The house is warm, quiet, familiar. The kind of space that only love can build.

Then you hear it—the soft click of the front door.

“I’m back,” Hinata calls gently, her voice low and tired.

You smile, already turning toward her.

She steps into the room, her coat still on, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the day. But when her eyes meet yours, something shifts. The tension eases. Her gaze softens.

She doesn’t say much.

She never does.

But she walks over, rests a hand lightly on your back, and leans in just enough for her forehead to brush your shoulder.

It’s her way of saying she missed you.

Of saying thank you.

Of saying I love you—without ever needing the words.