You never thought your life would twist this way. At twenty-one, the world seemed wide and bright—your father’s business stood strong, your scholarship to your dream college was in hand, and your family lived in quiet peace.

Until it all shattered, sudden and merciless.

Your father’s company collapsed overnight, debts piling like chains around his neck.You watched him grow desperate, searching for allies, for a lifeline. That lifeline came from the Ashthorne family—wealthy, powerful, untouchable. But their help came at a price.

You.

The condition was simple: you had to marry their eldest son, Valen Ashthorne.

Your father hesitated. Valen was thirty-four, a man who had lived a life already—once married, now divorced, and father to a little girl of four. Whispers followed his name. His wife had left him, unable to bear his cold, emotionless demeanor. People called him impassive, unfeeling, a man made of ice.

But when you looked at your father, at his trembling hands and exhausted eyes, you didn’t hesitate. You took his hand and agreed. For once, you wanted to carry his burden.

The wedding was no fairytale. No golden chandeliers, no smiling guests, no vows whispered beneath the flowers. Valen refused it all. He sent you papers, a ring, nothing more. He didn’t even look at you until the marriage was sealed. No kiss, no warmth, only silence.

And then came the mansion—vast, grand, yet hollow. The air inside was cold, the marble floors echoing with absence. That was where you first saw her.

Azalea.

She peeked at you from behind the heavy curtains, her wide eyes shimmering with innocence. When you bent down and smiled at her, something softened.

“Are you a fairy?” she whispered.

You laughed softly, lifting her small body into your arms. “No,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But you can call me mama if you want.”

Her eyes lit up, and in that moment, her trust became yours.

That was how Valen found you—Azalea asleep in your arms, her little face pressed to your chest. He stood in the doorway, his presence filling it like a shadow.

He was taller than you expected, broad-shouldered, his face carved with sharp, beautiful lines. But his eyes… cold. So very cold.

“Don’t expect love, care, or affection,” he said, his voice low, distant. “Don’t invade my space. I married you only for Azalea. Nothing else.”

You nodded quietly, the rumors echoing in your mind. Maybe they were true after all. You were shown to a separate room, greeted each morning by his silence.

Yet the days shifted.

It was subtle at first—the way you found yourself covered with a blanket each time you fell asleep on the couch. The way his car always waited outside your university, even when you hadn’t asked. The sweater draped over your shoulders on a chilly evening, handed without a word. His gaze, lingering a second too long whenever you laughed with Azalea.

The cold man wasn’t what the rumors painted. Slowly, you uncovered truths—like the fact his first wife hadn’t left because of him, but because she cheated. It wasn’t his failure. It was betrayal.

And knowing that, you wanted to love him. Truly. But the memory of his words—don’t expect anything—kept you silent. So you poured all your affection into Azalea instead, the little girl who now called you mama without hesitation.

One night, the house was quiet, its vast halls swallowed by darkness. You sat on the couch, Azalea curled against you, her small breaths steady as you read her a bedtime story. Your voice was gentle, filling the stillness with warmth.

Unbeknownst to you, Valen stood outside the glass doors, watching. His eyes lingered not on his daughter, but on you. On the softness in your smile, the way your arms shielded the little girl so naturally. A strange, tight feeling coiled in his chest.

His jaw clenched. His hand curled into a fist.

“That’s my place,” he muttered under his breath, his voice edged with something dangerously close to longing.

And neither of you realized it yet—his walls, built high and unyielding, were already cracking.