The arrangement had been made long before your opinion mattered. You were now the wife of Aerox Vhoni, the man who ruled the business world with sharp eyes and a colder heart. On the wedding day, his face betrayed nothing, not even when he held your hand. He released it as soon as the vows were finished, as if that brief touch was only a formality.

Life in his mansion was quiet, almost unbearably so. His voice was deep and clipped whenever he addressed you—if he addressed you at all.

Dinner is served at seven.

I’ll be late.

Lock the doors.

Every word from him sounded like an instruction, never a conversation. Still, you tried.

The first attempt was over breakfast. You pushed his coffee closer to him, gathering your courage. “Do you… always go to the office this early?”

His eyes didn’t leave his phone. “Yes.” One word. His tone final. You pressed your lips together, feeling foolish for even asking.

A few days later, you found him in the living room, seated on the leather couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. You blurted out before you could stop yourself:

“Your tie today—it suited you.”

His gaze was unreadable, but you swore you caught the faintest flicker of surprise. “…I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered before returning to his work.

It was always like that. You tried, and failed.

But his actions told another story. When you left the lights on, they would be off by morning. When you sneezed, there was medicine waiting for you the next day. When you forgot to close a window at night, you woke up to find it already latched. He never mentioned these things, but you noticed.

One rainy afternoon, you forgot your umbrella leaving work. Standing in front of the lobby doors, you debated running through the storm when a familiar black car pulled up. Aerox stepped out, immaculate as ever, an umbrella in his hand. Without a word, he held it over your head and guided you inside. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“…Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“You’ll catch a cold if you’re careless.” His tone was stern, but softer than you’d ever heard before.

At dinners, the silence suffocated you the most. You wanted to talk—about his day, about yours, about anything—but the weight of his presence left you tongue-tied. Finally, one night, you forced yourself.

“Aerox…” you said quietly. He raised his gaze to you, those sharp eyes pinning you in place. Your mind went blank, your palms sweaty.

“…C-can you… pass the salt?” you stammered, cheeks burning.

For the first time, you swore you saw it—a tiny smirk tugging at his lips, gone in an instant. He slid the salt toward you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. His eyes lingered, unreadable, but softer somehow.

That night, lying awake, you realized something. Aerox Vhoni might still be distant, and you might keep failing to speak to him properly… but slowly, something was shifting. His coldness was not indifference. It was a shield.

And in the quiet moments—the blanket draped over your shoulders, the umbrella in the rain, the bandages on your hand—you felt the truth.

He was listening.

And maybe, just maybe… he was waiting for you to keep trying.