The first time you met Cassian Windsor, he didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

You were eighteen, standing in a room too grand for comfort, your hands folded neatly in front of you while your families spoke in low, pleased voices. The arrangement had already been decided. This was just… formality.

Cassian leaned against the far wall, dressed immaculately, like he’d been carved to fit into this world. When his father called his name, he pushed off lazily and walked over.

His gaze swept over you once.

Measured. Dismissive.

“…This is it?” he said, not even lowering his voice.

The room went still.

You felt the heat rise to your face but held your posture. “Nice to meet you too.”

He huffed quietly, looking away. “I wasn’t given a choice.” His brows pulled together slightly, and his expression hardened as he glared at you.

At nineteen, you saw him again at a gala.

He didn’t approach you. Didn’t speak to you. But you noticed the way his eyes found you across the room more than once—quick glances, like he didn’t want to be caught looking.

When someone mentioned your name beside him, he stiffened.

“…She talks too much,” he muttered.

You had said maybe five words all night.

At twenty, you were seated beside him at a formal dinner.

Closer this time. Unavoidable.

He was quiet for most of it, posture rigid, attention fixed anywhere but you. But when your sleeve brushed his by accident, he jerked slightly—subtle, but real.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly.

Too quickly.

You stared at him for a second.

“…Are you always this tense?”

“I’m not tense.”

“You just flinched.”

“I did not.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced.

He shifted in his seat, clearly irritated.

By twenty-one, there was no more time left to stall.

The wedding was set.

The hall was filled with people who cared more about legacy than either of you. The air felt heavier than it had three years ago—less uncertain, more inevitable.

You stood beside him at the altar.

Cassian was still cold.

Still distant.

You could see it now—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed once at his side before going still again. The way his gaze flicked toward you for the briefest second before snapping forward.

The officiant spoke. The vows were recited.