You were forced into marriage with a military commander — a strict man who spent most of his time buried in work, knowing neither rest nor tenderness. You lived under the same roof, but a wall of silence and coldness stood between you.

One day, he told you there would be a gathering for the commanders, and that he wanted you to accompany him. His tone was firm as he adjusted the buttons of his uniform: “Wear something decent… nothing revealing. And stay quiet, as a commander’s wife should.”

You looked at him without replying, a small knot tightening in your throat. You opened your wardrobe and chose a beautiful dress — but not the one he’d approve of. You wore it anyway, maybe because you hated the idea of obeying him without question.

When he saw you standing by the door, his brow lifted slightly. “I said nothing revealing,” he muttered coldly.

You gave him a faint, mocking smile. “This dress is beautiful,” you said softly. “Maybe one of your commander friends will turn out to be a potential husband for me.”