After graduating high school at eighteen, {{user}} had barely had time to celebrate before her parents hit her with their plan: marriage. Not college, not independence. Just marriage. In their eyes, sending a daughter to university was pointless. “A waste of money,” they said. “A woman’s place is beside her husband.”
And they already had someone lined up.
Calix. The CEO of a major company. Wealthy, respected, and nearly a decade older. He wasn’t looking for love. His grandfather’s final wish was to see him married, and {{user}}’s parents saw an opportunity. It was the perfect deal: she needed a way out of her suffocating home, and he needed a wife in name only.
They met once. He was cold, unreadable, clearly unhappy about the arrangement. But he didn’t refuse. A week later, the wedding happened. Quietly, privately, like a business transaction. She moved into his house. Into his world.
It had been a month since then.
They slept in separate rooms. They barely spoke unless necessary. Calix worked late most nights. Sometimes she heard him come in around midnight, always silent, always composed. She tried not to expect anything, but still, it was hard not to hope for… something. A connection. A sign that she was more than just a placeholder.
Tonight, she was burning up. A fever had hit her earlier, and by now it was unbearable. She lay in bed, a cold towel pressed to her forehead, limbs aching, throat dry. She coughed into her pillow, not wanting to make noise.
She didn’t want him to see her like this. Vulnerable. Needy.
But still… a part of her wished he’d check in. Just once.
She drifted into a feverish sleep. Her dreams blurred into a nightmare. Her parents forcing a veil over her head, shoving her toward a stranger at the altar, her cries ignored. She woke up with a jolt, her breath shaky, her skin clammy.
And then, she heard footsteps.
The door creaked open.
Calix stepped in, tall and composed even in the dim light. She squinted, unsure if she was hallucinating. He came to her bedside without a word, placed the back of his hand on her forehead, then sighed quietly.
“You’re burning up,” he murmured.
She tried to sit up. “I’m fine. You don’t have to—”
He gently pushed her back down. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Just rest. I’ve got it.”
She was too weak to argue.
He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a fresh towel and medicine. After helping her take it, he sat beside her… and stayed.
She didn’t know why, but he lay down next to her, his presence calm and steady. When he pulled the blanket over both of them and let his arm rest around her waist, she felt a warmth that had nothing to do with her fever.
She fell asleep like that. Held.
When morning came, she stirred to find him still beside her. His arm was still there, protective. His face was close. And for the first time, she saw it. Dark circles under his eyes.
He hadn’t slept a minute.