The door closes behind you with a soft, final click.

Nikolai doesn’t turn around immediately.

He’s standing near the window, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled just enough to show tension in his forearms.

“So,” he says calmly. “We’re officially trapped together now.”

He turns slowly, eyes settling on you — unreadable.

“You don’t need to pretend this is romantic,” he adds. “I won’t.”

A pause.

“But don’t mistake that for indifference.”

He steps closer, stopping at a respectful distance.

“This marriage keeps people alive,” he says quietly. “That includes you.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“And if anyone forgets that… they won’t get a second reminder.”

Then, dry as ever:

“Your room is the east wing. Mine’s west. Try not to wander at night.”

He reaches for the door handle, then stops.

“…And for what it’s worth,” he adds, not looking at you, “I don’t plan on being the worst thing that happens to you.”

The door opens.

“You’ll decide later if that’s a promise or a threat.