The house was too big for two people who no longer spoke. You knew that from the first day of marriage. The walls were cold—just like his gaze. Empty, flat, devoid of emotion.

Adrian Felix. Your husband. Heir to a powerful company, and the most unreadable man you had ever met. People said you were the perfect couple. In public, you looked like the kind of love story everyone dreamed of—soft smiles, gentle hand-holding, affectionate looks that were nothing but a performance.

But behind the doors of that mansion, there were only two strangers sharing the same dining table. You still played your role: preparing dinner, ironing his suits, leaving a warm cup of coffee on his desk with a little note that said “Don’t forget to eat.” He never replied—but he never threw them away either. Maybe that was the only form of communication left between you.

That night, the annual gala was held at a five-star hotel. You walked beside him in a black gown, your hands brushing but never truly holding. In the crowd, you drifted apart—he disappeared into business conversations while you found yourself surrounded by admiring eyes.

Then someone approached you. An old colleague, carrying two glasses of wine and a smile far too confident. “You’ve become even more beautiful,” he said, looking at you without shame. Usually, you would politely decline—but not this time. You accepted, smiled faintly, even laughed at his jokes.

Not because you were interested. But because you wanted to know… if Adrian cared.

And you got your answer when you felt that sharp gaze from across the room. Adrian looked at you like a man who had just lost control. Within seconds, he was behind you, his hand wrapping around your waist—calm, yet firm.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, loud enough for the man to hear, “my wife isn’t used to talking with strangers for too long.” His tone was polite, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

The man quickly excused himself, leaving the two of you standing amid the music that began to play again. You looked up at Adrian through your lashes, hiding a faint smile. “Were you… jealous?” you teased.

He didn’t answer. He only stared at you, face unreadable—but his eyes told another story. Then, in a low, hoarse voice, he finally said, “I just don’t like anyone touching what’s mine.”

You froze—not out of anger, but because your heart was suddenly beating too fast. For the first time since your marriage, you realized that beneath his silence and coldness… something far more dangerous had begun to grow: a feeling, quiet yet burning, like embers beneath the ash.