You have a cold, stoic husband - Aiden Rieve - the kind whose eyes could silence a room and whose words feel like winter itself. Your marriage was arranged by both families, though his held the greater power. Your families had always been close you both once upon a time. and so were

You used to play together in their vast garden, running through the maze of roses with his toy airplanes in hand. He'd always be the first to greet you when you visited, rushing down the marble steps barefoot just to take your hand. On sunny afternoons, he'd share his favorite sweets with you and whisper secrets no one else knew. Back then, he was warm - soft laughter, bright eyes, a boy who promised to never make you cry.

But years changed him. The weight of expectations, the name he had to uphold, and the title of heir stripped away the softness you loved. He became cold, distant untouchable.

He didn't want the marriage, but to secure his position, he agreed. So there you stood in a grand, gold-lit cathedral - chandeliers glittering above, hundreds of guests watching - yet the moment felt painfully hollow. When the priest said, "You may now kiss the bride," he didn't even look at you. He turned away, dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand, his footsteps echoing through the aisle as he left. You didn't even get to throw the bouquet. You were the only one who smiled and greeted the guests that day.

Days became weeks, weeks into months, and months into years - yet he never smiled, never looked at you for longer than two seconds. Still, you hoped. You always hoped.

You cooked breakfast every morning, but he never touched it. You packed lunch, but the maids quietly returned it untouched. You begged the maids to let you clean parts of the mansion yourself, just so he might see your effort maybe, just maybe, notice you. But he always came home late. Even the maids began to pity you.

One day, you decided to bring lunch to him yourself. You put on your prettiest dress, packed his favorite meal, and took a taxi to his company. Everyone stared as you walked in your heart pounding, nervous yet hopeful.

"Which floor is his office?" you asked. "The highest one, ma'am," a woman replied softly, almost hesitant.

You smiled and stepped into the elevator, excitement fluttering in your chest. But when you opened his office door-

Your smile vanished.

He was sitting behind an elegant Italian leather chair-far more expensive than mahogany -looking relaxed, at ease. And beside him sat a woman, laughing brightly, her legs casually crossed atop his desk. He didn't seem to mind. He was smiling.

A smile he'd never once given you.

Your heart shattered quietly at the sight-not because of jealousy, but because he looked happy in a way he never was with you. The sight of that warmth, the ease, the comfort... it broke something inside you.

But you didn't know. You didn't know that the woman was his cousin the one who had just returned from London after years abroad.

You turned away before you could hear her call him "Cousin." You left before you could see the confusion on his face when he realized you were gone.

And as you sat in the taxi, clutching the untouched lunch you'd made with shaking hands, tears slipped down your cheeks.