Christopher was your husband—on paper, at least. The marriage certificate sat buried in a drawer, signed in black ink under government lights, not candlelight. No wedding, no vows, no honeymoon. Just a legal arrangement. A favor for his family. A lifeline for yours. You were supposed to stay out of each other’s way, live parallel lives, and never let feelings get in the way.

But then he started leaving coffee for you in the mornings. Remembering how you liked two sugars, no cream. Noticing when you came home late. Sitting beside you on the couch a little closer each night—never touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

“You look tired.” He said one night, his voice low as he leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes lingering a moment too long.

You blinked. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”

Christopher smirked. “I notice everything about my wife.”