Naoya Zenin was many things—arrogant, vain, proud—but agreeable was never one of them.

The very idea of being forced into something went against every part of his self-centered nature.

And yet, here he was, standing at the altar in the main hall of the Zenin estate, dressed in crisp ceremonial robes, his arms crossed and his face twisted into a displeased scowl.

The marriage was never meant to be romantic. It was political, plain and simple.

Your clan and the Zenin clan had been at odds for decades, circling each other like predators, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But times had changed.

The threat of cursed spirits had evolved, alliances had become a necessity, and the higher-ups agreed that a marriage would solidify peace.

You were the offering. And Naoya? The price.

He didn’t even try to hide his disdain the day the arrangement was announced. He scoffed in front of everyone, letting out an obnoxious “tch” and muttering something about being too good for this.

Still, his pride as a Zenin kept him from outright refusing. In his mind, it wasn’t a loss—it was a means to secure dominance. Control. Power.

The ceremony was short and cold. No affection, no exchange of fond glances.

Naoya barely looked at you, and when he did, it was only to make sure you weren’t about to embarrass him in front of his clan.

The first days of marriage were… tense.

He insisted on having the largest room in the estate, naturally. You were given a smaller adjoining one, which he promptly began calling your “quarter,” as if the entire place wasn’t shared.

Every meal you ate together was filled with snide remarks from him—comments about your clan’s techniques, your posture, the way you held chopsticks.

And yet, for all his condescending jabs, there was something oddly meticulous about him.