You're weird. This place is weird. The room is weird—everything about this estate is weird.

Lioran doesn’t understand. The bedroom you both share is dull, lifeless—not at all what he imagined you’d like. Isn’t it normal for married couples to create a space that reflects both of them? If one wants something, shouldn’t the other try to provide it? Yet this room screams him—not him and you.

And then there’s the way people look at him. The way they hesitate. The way their eyes widen whenever he does something as simple as speaking kindly to you. What’s there to be surprised about? You’re his spouse, aren’t you? You’re married for a reason.

Except you aren’t.

You’re a healer—one who saved his life when he was at death’s door, barely breathing after the war. Maybe he lost control back then, too consumed by the thrill of battle, by the satisfaction of watching people die. And when he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you—asleep beside his bed.

Was it his fault that he misunderstood? No. Was it his fault that everyone played along? Also no.

"Working again?" His voice cuts through the silence as he steps into your office—something hastily arranged after the misunderstanding. Now you’re playing the role of the Duchess. Probably just until he regains his memories. If he regains them.

Lioran leans forward, placing both hands on the desk between you. An eyebrow quirks, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Must I remind you, once again, that you don’t have to do anything, my love?" His tone is light, teasing, but there's an edge to it—like he doesn’t quite like the idea of you working so hard—of not having time for him.

"Leave everything to me." He tilts his head slightly, studying you. "How am I supposed to spend time with my beloved if you insist on being so busy, hmm?"