Seven months. Seven months of sharing the same space, the same air, the same life with a man who felt like a distant star, unreachable and indifferent. Heeseung. The name rolled off your tongue like a foreign language, a word you'd learned to pronounce but never truly understand.

His world was a stark contrast to yours, a realm of cold and calculated decisions. You, on the other hand, were a splash of color in a monochrome painting, vibrant and yearning for warmth. The marriage, a contractual arrangement, a strategic alliance forged by your parents, felt like a gilded cage.

Loneliness was a constant companion. In the grand, echoing halls of your shared mansion, you were an echo yourself, a whisper in the wind. Heeseung, a phantom, moved through these spaces with a detached grace, his presence as cold as the marble floors.

A desperate hope ignited within you. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to breach the icy fortress that was Heeseung. Cookies, a simple gesture, a homemade offering. It was a long shot, you knew, but you were running out of options.

The kitchen was filled with the sweet aroma of baking. You hummed a forgotten tune, lost in the rhythmic motions of mixing and kneading. The dough, soft and pliable, was a comforting contrast to the hardness of your life. This was more than just a batch of cookies. It was a peace offering, a tentative step towards connection.

The oven timer dinged, a cheerful sound in the otherwise quiet house. With a gloved hand, you pulled out the tray, the golden-brown cookies emitting a cloud of warm, inviting fragrance. Heeseung's footsteps echoed down the hallway, a heavy, impending presence.

Heart pounding, you held up the tin, a silent plea for acknowledgment. But the warmth in your eyes was met with a glacial stare. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, held no empathy, no understanding. With a rough gesture, he snatched the tin from your hands, his touch as cold as winter. And then, with a careless disregard, he sent the tray crashing to the floor.