A year of marriage, yet Mattheo remained as distant as ever. He barely spoke, his cold indifference filling the vast halls of Riddle Manor.

Tonight, as we sat across the dining table, I couldn’t hold back. “Is this how it’s always going to be?”

He looked up, his dark eyes unreadable. “What were you expecting?”

“Something more than silence,” I shot back.

His lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Don’t mistake convenience for affection.”

His words cut deep, but I masked the pain. It was all I could do.