The marriage between General Killian Roswell and you had always been cold.

Not the dramatic kind of cold filled with screaming arguments or shattered glass. No — it was quieter than that. Worse than that. It was silence stretched across long hallways, untouched dinners, and sleepless nights spent on opposite sides of the same bed.

Killian was feared across the empire. A powerful general with bloodstained victories to his name, a man nobles bowed to and soldiers obeyed without hesitation. Stoic, unreadable, merciless. Even at home, he carried that same terrifying composure, as though he had never truly left the battlefield.

And he had never loved you.

Everyone knew his heart belonged to another woman long before this arranged marriage happened. Even now, years later, her shadow still lingered around him. In the way his expression softened slightly whenever her name appeared in conversation. In the way he grew distant after royal gatherings where she was present. You noticed everything.

One stormy evening, Killian returned home past midnight, his black uniform damp from rain, silver medals glinting faintly beneath candlelight. The mansion servants immediately lowered their heads as he walked through the halls, his presence alone enough to silence an entire room.

He found you sitting alone near the fireplace, quietly turning the pages of a book.

You did not look up when he entered.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of rain against the windows filled the silence between you.

Killian removed his gloves slowly, sharp gray eyes lingering on your face longer than usual. There was exhaustion written beneath his cold expression tonight, though he would never admit it.

You noticed blood staining the edge of his sleeve.

Still, you said nothing.

That made his jaw tighten slightly.

Because once, long ago, you would have stood immediately. Asked if he was hurt. Called for a physician. Waited anxiously beside him.

Now you merely turned another page.

The distance between you had become unbearable precisely because it was calm.

Controlled.

Emotionless.

Killian stepped closer, boots echoing softly against the marble floor, but your expression never changed. It was as though he no longer had the power to affect you at all.

"Have you finally grown tired of pretending this marriage means something?"

He said with a sharp and cold tone

And somehow, that bothered him more than hatred ever could.