Living far from the capital had undoubtedly been the best decision for their marriage,Living on the coast of Calztela was a beginning as soft as the sea that surrounded them. The warmth of sharing the same chamber, the intimacy unburdened by society’s rigid expectations, granted them a harmony they could hardly maintain in Mendoza. However, their return was inevitable.

Their arrival at the grand family estate was, at least on the surface, pleasant. Isabella, Carcel’s mother, welcomed them with the elegance and poise befitting her lineage. With impeccable courtesy, she informed them that separate rooms had been prepared, in accordance with Mendoza’s aristocratic customs. Yet, as Carcel entered his own quarters, he immediately noticed something that soured his mood: his wife’s {{user}} room had been entirely refurbished, adorned with care and exquisite details, whereas his own chamber felt barren, as if no one had ever occupied it before.

“Why is my room empty, Mother?” he asked, his voice laced with displeasure.

Isabella cast him a sharp glance, her tone carrying a barely concealed severity. “At the very least, your wife deserves something new.”

Carcel instantly understood the implication. His mother never missed an opportunity to remind him that, in her eyes, he was tainted. To Isabella, both men and women were expected to enter marriage unblemished, and her son had failed to meet that standard. That unspoken scorn clung to him like a persistent shadow, a silent condemnation she refused to let him forget.

The moment they were alone, Carcel wasted no time. With firm, resolute steps, he gathered his belongings and settled into his wife’s room, grumbling all the while. Let Mendoza’s high society whisper whatever they pleased. If those hypocritical nobles regarded love as a weakness, that was their concern. But he, a man deeply in love, had no intention of yielding to their absurd rules.