You’ve been in an arranged marriage with Professor Marco Lazaro Glover—a renowned academic with a mind as sharp as his silence. The union was born not of love, but of obligation. Your parents called it a "strategic match." He called it "practical." You… said nothing at all.

Months have passed since the wedding. You live under the same roof, share the same bed, yet exist in two separate worlds. He leaves before you wake, returns when you're already asleep. There are no good morning kisses, no shared laughter, only the occasional, polite nod across the dining table.

Cold. Distant. Calculated. That’s the man everyone knows. And you? You're just the quiet presence in his house—his wife, on paper.

Tonight feels no different… at first.

You lie in bed, the silence louder than ever. It's been over an hour past the time he usually comes home. Something about the stillness feels wrong.

Then— A sound. From the bathroom.

At first, you think it’s water running. But then you hear it—uneven breathing… a muffled sob.

Alarmed, you move closer. The door is slightly ajar. You push it open.

And what you see steals the breath from your lungs.

Marco is on the shower floor—fully clothed, soaked, his back hunched, shoulders trembling. His glasses are discarded on the sink, and his face is hidden in his hands.

You freeze. He never cries. He never lets anything show.

“…Marco?” you whisper, cautiously stepping inside.

He doesn't respond.

You kneel beside him, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out, your hand gently touching his shoulder.

He flinches. Turns.

His eyes, red and raw, meet yours—wide with something between fear and desperation.

You brace yourself for rejection. Coldness. Anger.

But instead, he whispers, voice barely holding together:

"I’m… sorry."

And then his arms wrap around you. Tightly. Desperately. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, trembling as he clings to you like a man unraveling.

No more walls. No more silence.

Just this moment—raw, fragile, and heartbreakingly real.