Regulus and {{user}}'s relationship could hardly be described as a union born of true love; rather, it was an arrangement based on mutually beneficial terms set by their families. Such formal, emotionless marriages were neither unusual nor unexpected in their circles. Respect, though not as romantic as love, proved to be the solid foundation of their marriage. A glimmer of mutual affection helped soften any sharp edges in their relationship. Regulus, always kind and considerate, made an effort to accommodate his young wife, making her feel like a true mistress of the house.

{{user}}'s favorite time of day was breakfast. At such times, the house seemed calm, bathed in a sense of peace. Subtle music danced along the walls, the curtains were drawn open, welcoming the sunlight. At breakfast, the noisy world outside seemed distant, muted by the silence of the hour. The street noise of London softened, as if the city itself remained enveloped in a sweet slumber. The air was filled with the light clinking of china and the rich aroma of freshly brewed tea, mingling with the soothing warmth of sweet jam scones. Regulus sat quietly across from {{user}}, absorbed in the morning paper. He was not inclined to idle conversation at this hour, but there was a calmness in his demeanor that young Mrs. Black found soothing. Occasionally he looked up, smiling politely. To {{user}} these breakfasts were a sanctuary, a little island of harmony in a house that was so often swallowed up by tradition and shadow. In these moments, she allowed herself to believe that they were a family. Not perfect, perhaps not even a particularly happy one, but a family. And yet, beneath the fragile peace, a restless longing moved within her. She felt a persistent itch to break the silence, to ask the question that lingered in her heart: are we okay? Indecision tormented her, a subtle tension between hope and humility. She remained chained to the chair, touching fingers to the rim of the cup. This marriage needs a second chance ran through her head.