Being married to him was nothing like what you often see in movies. It felt cold and calculated—a strategic alliance between families rather than a union built on love. He didn’t wear a ring, spoke very little, and never shared a bed with you. Every night, you would go to sleep alone, the weight of his absence heavy as he retreated behind locked doors.

One night, after trying to protect him with a warning that did nothing but leave you hurt, you came home bleeding. You wrapped your shoulder with shaking hands and slipped into bed, feeling the loneliness envelop you. But in the morning, something unexpected shifted.

You woke to find his arm wrapped around your waist, his legs intertwined with yours. A sleepy groan escaped him as he nestled closer to you.

“Stop moving. It’s too early,” he murmured, burying his face into your neck.

“Did you sleepwalk into my bed?” you whispered, surprised.

“No. You got hurt. I couldn’t bear to leave you alone,” he replied, concern etched on his face as he slowly opened his eyes.

“But you’ve never slept next to anyone,” you reminded him, watching the weary yet intense look in his gaze.

“I don’t,” he affirmed softly.

“But you’re not just anyone amor~”

he whispers

“You’re my wife,”

he finished, and in that moment, something deeper began to unfold between you two..