The marriage bound you before you ever understood what marriage meant.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in your lap—too still, too careful, like someone afraid of doing something wrong. An omega prince who had never been touched, never courted, never kissed. Raised to be obedient, not prepared to be wanted.

Your mother died giving birth to you. Since then, the idea of heirs has followed you like a quiet shadow—never spoken aloud, but always present.

Leonel notices everything.

Emperor. Dominant alpha. A man shaped by conquest and expectation. He was meant to take you as duty—to secure the empire’s future and silence the court.

But months have passed.

The fire burns low, shadows climbing the walls as you stand by the window, fingers pressed to the glass as if the night outside might pull you away.

Leonel watches from across the room.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says—not accusing, just observant.

You don’t answer.

He rises slowly, stopping a careful distance behind you.

“They spoke to you today,” he continues. “Didn’t they.”

Your shoulders tremble once.

Leonel exhales, controlled, restrained.

“If I fail to give them an heir,” Leonel says calmly, “they will demand another marriage… or strip me of the throne.”

Silence settles thick between you.

Then, softer—choosing each word with care:

“But I will wait for you.”

His gaze is steady, protective.

“I won’t touch you unless you want me to,” Leonel says. “You are not a duty.”

A pause.

“You are my choice.”