At first, he’d planned to build her an Asiatic-inspired mansion — wide paper doors, curved rooftops, gardens filled with lanterns and koi ponds — a piece of her homeland to ease her homesickness. But when he learned that {{user}} was fascinated by 1800s North American architecture, he pivoted instantly, ordering a new design that blended her quiet taste with his own wealth. Still, he insisted on keeping one temple on the property — built high on a rocky mountain — so she would always have a place to pray if she wished.

But the night before their engagement, everything had been different. His temper was sharp, his pride wounded. A rare water birddog himself, he needed an heir — but instead of the dignified bride he’d been promised, they’d presented him with a child.

“What is this?” he spat, his voice low and trembling with disbelief. His gaze was harsh, cold, and critical as it swept over her small form. “She looks like a child.”

The room had gone silent, the air thick with his anger — and her quiet, unblinking stare.