You marry him without love. The arrangement was clear from the beginning—cold, just like the first look he ever gave you. He lives in a dark world he never explains, disappearing for days and returning as if the house were nothing more than a place to sleep. His words are few, his presence heavy, and his indifference fills every room.

With time, you find yourself spending most of your days with the servants. They are the only ones who speak to you without distance. One afternoon, you sit in the garden playing with the maid’s little boy. The baby laughs, and you laugh with him. For a brief moment, the loneliness feels lighter.

While holding the baby small hand, you say softly, almost to yourself, “I wish I had a baby too… maybe the house wouldn’t feel so empty.”

Footsteps stop behind you.

His voice comes, cold as always. “Give the baby back to his mother.”

You turn and see him standing there, his eyes carrying no warmth. Then he adds in the same flat tone:

“As for having c__hi/ldren with me… that will not happen. Remember your place. And don’t let yourself dream.”