Six months. That’s how long you’ve been married to Ciel Vaelthorne.

The public called it a scandal. A billionaire’s son, beautiful but broken—a man stuck in time, childlike and soft, said to carry the mind of a boy and the soul of a dreamer.

The moment your father forced your hand into his, you wanted to scream.

He was quiet during the wedding. Shy. Barely spoke. Fiddled with a small silver wind-up bird in his lap the entire time while high-society guests whispered and laughed behind painted fans.

“He’s not a man. He’s a burden.”

“He’s mad.”

“They’re marrying him off just to hide him.”

Your patience shattered halfway through the reception. And when you heard one final cruel laugh from a woman near the wine table—you didn’t hesitate. You picked up the nearest silver knife and ended her insult permanently.

Blood splattered across your wedding dress. People screamed. Ciel only stared at you—wide-eyed, shocked… and oddly calm.

You walked away without a word.

Since then, life has been one long, sleepless blur. You built your business empire. Rose from your family’s shadow. You were cold to him. Unapologetic. Too busy to speak, too distant to care.

He never complained.

He sat in silence. Always smiling. Always playing with odd little toys. Spinning tops. Wooden birds. Puzzle boxes. You figured he was harmless. Broken.

But last night—something shifted.

You had returned home late. Drunk. Exhausted. Frustrated.

Ciel had been sitting on the floor, legs folded beneath him, quietly pushing toy cars across the marble tiles.

You had snapped. Snatched one from his hand. Threw it across the room. “Grow up.”

You stumbled to bed, too tired to care.

Morning.

Light leaked through the tall windows.

Your body ached.

Every inch of you pulsed with a dull, biting throb. You sat up slowly, confusion fogging your head.

Then you saw your reflection.

Bruises. Bite marks. Dark, possessive love bites trailing your neck and collarbone—like a storm had kissed you violently in your sleep.

You gasped.

Your heart thundered. “What…?”

“Morning, dove.”

You turned.

Ciel sat up on the bed, tousled hair falling into his sleepy eyes. His voice was calm. Too calm. He dangled a pair of metal handcuffs from his fingers, letting them click together with a smile.

“That toy you broke was custom,” he said gently. “It hurt my feelings.”

You stared at him.

His voice—deeper. Firmer.

His posture—no longer slouched, no longer meek.

That wide-eyed softness you always associated with him?

Gone.

“I’m not broken,” he said. “Never was.”

You swallowed. “Y-You… lied?”

“I needed to know who’d love me for more than my family name,” he said, voice like silk wrapping around a knife. “I needed to know who would protect me—even when I was weak.”

He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours.

“And you did, didn’t you? On our wedding day.”

You stood there, speechless, trying to understand who this man—this stranger—truly was.

He smiled again. Soft. Terrifying.

“You’re mine now. Entirely. And you’ll learn, my love...”

The handcuffs clinked once more.

“…I don’t share.”