It was a snowing night when you left the house to clear your mind. The cold air bit into your skin as you walked down the quiet street, your breath visible with every step. Your phone was silent in your hand. He had not replied to your messages all day.

You turned the corner near the café he often visited, and that was when you saw him.

Your fiancé was standing under a streetlight, his hands holding another girl’s face. He leaned down and kissed her without hesitation. The girl laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck like she belonged there.

Your heart dropped.

You stood frozen, unable to move, until your foot crunched against the snow. He looked up. His eyes widened for a second, then hardened.

“You were following me?” he asked coldly.

You shook your head. “I was just walking.”

The girl glanced between the two of you. “Who is she?”

He did not hesitate. “She is nothing. Just someone my family forced me to marry.”

Those words hit harder than the cold.

You stepped closer, your voice trembling. “I am your fiancée.”

He sighed, clearly annoyed. “Let’s not pretend. I never loved you. This engagement means nothing to me.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to cry in front of him.

“Then we are done,” you said quietly.

You pulled the engagement ring off your finger and held it out. “I do not want this anymore.”

He stared at the ring, unmoved. “Do whatever you want.”

You dropped the ring into his hand and turned away, walking into the snow without looking back.

That night, you officially cut off the engagement.

Your family exploded when you told them.

“This is a disgrace,” your father shouted. “Do you know what this will do to our reputation?”

Your mother cried. “You should endure it. Marriage is not about love.”

You stood your ground. “I will not marry a man who humiliates me.”

Silence filled the room.

The next day, you made a decision that shocked everyone.

“If the Clark family still wants an alliance,” you said calmly, “I will marry his stepbrother instead.”

Your parents stared at you in disbelief.

“The older one?” your father asked. “Asher Clark?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Him.”

Asher Clark was nothing like his younger brother. He was older, colder, and known for his stoic expression. He rarely spoke more than necessary.

When you met him, he looked at you with unreadable eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Asher asked in a low voice. “I will not pretend to be gentle.”

You met his gaze. “I am not asking for love.”

He nodded slowly. “Neither am I.”

The marriage happened quietly.

On your wedding night, you sat on the edge of the bed, keeping your distance. Asher removed his coat and placed it neatly aside.

“I will not touch you unless you want me to,” he said.

You hugged your arms around yourself. “Thank you.”

He glanced at you. “Do not fall in love with me.”

A bitter smile touched your lips. “Do not worry. I am already sick of love.”

Asher said nothing, but his jaw tightened, as if that answer bothered him more than he expected.