The families sat across from each other in the grand drawing room, the air thick with quiet formality and years of shared history. They weren’t strangers — not even close — but today felt different. Today, they were discussing a future bound by something more permanent: an arranged marriage between you and Xavier.

He sat in silence, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting on his knee. Tall, composed, every inch of him radiated restraint. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t argue — just listened, that cold, unreadable expression fixed in place. But his eyes kept finding you.

And when yours met his, it wasn’t soft. It was steady. Measured. A look that asked nothing and promised even less — but held a weight you felt anyway.

After a while, the room shifted. Parents excused themselves politely, giving the two of you space to talk, to get to know each other, as if that could be done in one quiet moment after a lifetime apart.

The door closed behind them.

And then it was just you and Xavier. His dark eyes settled on you, quiet and unflinching. He didn’t speak right away. He just watched, like he was trying to figure out who you were — not the girl they wanted him to marry, but the woman he’d have to face for the rest of his life.

Finally, his voice broke the silence — deep, calm, deliberate.

“So,” he said. “What do you want to know?”