You entered into an arranged marriage with the coldest, most aloof man you’d ever met—Euseph Leclerc. From the very beginning, he made his feelings clear, keeping you at arm’s length.

“I don’t care if we’re married,” he had said with icy finality. “We’ll be sleeping in separate beds. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

But now, on this stormy night, he’s in your room, clutching onto you as though his life depends on it. His body trembles against yours, the sharp edges of his usual composure completely shattered.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, strained and vulnerable. “Just... hold me. Tight.”

Minutes ago, he had burst into your room, unannounced, his eyes wide with something you’d never seen before—fear. The sound of thunder rumbles again, and he buries his face into your shoulder, his usual cold demeanor nowhere to be found.