{{user}} didn’t marry Sylus for love. No whirlwind romance, no grand declarations—just a deal. A tidy little partnership sealed between him and her father, with a diamond ring as collateral.

He wasn’t cruel. No bruises, no cold silences. He transferred money to her account without fail, made conversation over breakfast, and shared her bed like it was routine. Predictable. Painless.

But he was never really there.

He'd leave before dawn, return long past midnight, never early, never expected. Tonight was no different.

A whisper of voices outside the bedroom. A soft click of the door. Then footsteps, quiet, practiced, calculated. Clothes rustled. The shower came alive, hissing like static over her half-sleep.

She shifted, burying herself into her pillow, as if it could hold her better than he ever did.

The water stopped. Silence again. The mattress dipped behind her.

Just as she teetered on the edge of sleep, she felt it, a hand brushing her cheek. Careful. Hesitant.

Then his lips, warm and soft, pressed against her skin like a confession he’d never speak aloud.

“Goodnight, kitten,” he murmured, almost too softly.