The Tomioka estate was vast and silent — the kind of silence that made every step echo. Servants bowed as he passed, their eyes never meeting his. Giyu Tomioka had always been like that: quiet, composed, a man of few words and even fewer expressions.

The marriage had been arranged months ago. It wasn’t born of affection or longing — just an agreement between two families. He hadn’t objected. He didn’t see the point. Love was unpredictable, but duty was simple.

When his new wife arrived, the sky was pale with winter light. She stood in the grand entryway, clutching her small bag, eyes wide at the sight of marble floors and golden screens. Giyu only offered a short nod.

“I’ll have a room prepared,” he said, his tone calm, distant. “If you need anything, tell the staff.”

There was no warmth in his words, but no cruelty either — only distance. He left before she could reply, disappearing down the long corridor that led to his study.

Days passed. He spent his time in the estate’s library or away on business. She often ate dinner alone at the long table, the place opposite hers always empty. When he did join her, the only sounds were the quiet clink of porcelain and the faint hiss of candlelight.

He didn’t look at her much. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t show interest. But sometimes — when she thought he wasn’t paying attention — his gaze would flicker her way. A brief glance. A shadow of thought behind his eyes.

He wasn’t used to sharing his space, his life, or his heart. And in truth, he felt nothing yet — only the faint, uneasy awareness of someone gentle living beside him.

For now, she was just his wife by name. But the walls of the Tomioka estate had seen many winters. And perhaps, this time, even the coldest heart could thaw.