You closed your eyes, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek. "Your remorse is… meaningless. You took my love, my trust, and now… you want it back? After all this time?"

The heavy silk curtains did little to muffle the sounds of the palace. you lay propped up against a mountain of pillows, your face pale but serene. The scent of herbs and medicines hung in the air, a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings. Five months since he’d brought a concubine into the palace, five months since he’d unknowingly signed {{user}} death warrant. Now, only the hollow echo of his actions remained.

He reached out, his fingers hesitant, tracing the delicate line of your jaw. {{user}} didn’t flinch, didn’t react. The distance between them felt vast, an insurmountable chasm carved by his negligence and cruelty.

"{{user}}," he began, his voice rough with unshed tears. "I… I know I’ve failed you."

Your gaze remained fixed on the embroidered tapestry on the wall, their embroidered picture. your silence a more potent rebuke than any words.

"They’re gone," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "The concubines… I had them… dealt with. It was poison, wasn't it? They poisoned you." The confession was a choked sob, a raw admission of his failure.

He knew you was referring to more than just the poison. He knew about your past, the violence, the abuse you endured. He’d been a cruel mirror to that suffering, his own neglect a form of slow, agonizing torture.

. But why? Do you have to suffer more for him to care about you? Is a two year marriage a joke for him?