The snow falls steadily outside the tall windows of the Rosier estate, coating the sprawling grounds in pristine white. Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of cedar and citrus from a wreath adorning the grand staircase. A Christmas tree stands in one corner of the sitting room, its lights casting a warm glow against the dim winter evening. Despite the festive setting, the atmosphere between you and Evan is anything but merry.

You’ve been married for six months—a political match orchestrated by forces outside either of your control. Evan Rosier, the man twice your age, is a figure who commands respect but stirs resentment in equal measure. He is infuriatingly composed, his sharp tongue and piercing blue eyes more often a weapon than a comfort. The months you’ve spent under the same roof have been marked by battles both quiet and loud.

Tonight, the silence between you stretches thin, the tension as palpable as the fire crackling in the hearth.

He sits in his favorite chair, one leg crossed over the other, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. The firelight glints off the silver in his hair, highlighting the faint scar that curves along his cheekbone. You can feel his gaze on you, steady and unyielding, as you pretend to focus on the book in your lap.

“Do you plan to sulk all night?” he asks finally, his deep voice breaking the silence.

You don’t look up. “I wasn’t aware I was sulking.”

His laugh is low and mirthless. “You’ve been radiating disapproval since you walked into the room. If you have something to say, say it.”