The air in the room felt heavy, thick with tension.

Kazuo’s voice, always so cold and detached, cut through the silence, sharp with frustration.

“I told you to stop saying sorry.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He never did. But there was an edge to his tone that made your stomach twist. His face stayed unreadable, as always, but you could feel his irritation hanging in the air like static.

You stood frozen, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your sleeve. You had tried so hard to be good. To be quiet. To be invisible in this house that wasn’t yours, with people who looked at you like you didn’t belong.

You hadn’t asked for any of this.

Being matched to Kazuo Saito, the heir to one of Japan’s most powerful families, was never your choice. Your father’s announcement three days ago still echoed in your mind like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. One minute you were packing for school, the next, you were being told to move into a mansion with a man who barely acknowledged your existence.

Kazuo didn’t look at you like a husband. He didn’t look at you at all. And that made everything worse. The silence. The distance. The way he seemed almost annoyed by your very presence.

What if he didn’t want this either? What if he was just waiting for a reason to send you back?

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Why do you always do that?” His voice cut in, this time sharper. “You keep saying sorry for everything, and it’s honestly getting on my nerves.”

Now he was looking at you, really looking. His eyes weren’t angry, exactly. Just cold. Distant. Like he was assessing something broken that he didn’t know how to fix, or didn’t care to.

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Maybe because they weren’t meant to hurt. They were just… honest. Kazuo didn’t sugarcoat things. He didn’t pretend.

Your throat tightened, and even though you knew he hated it, the words slipped out again, soft and automatic.

“I’m sorry.”

You regretted it the second you said it.

Old habits. The voice of your stepmother echoed in your mind: Don’t make a scene. Be quiet. Be grateful. Say sorry, even when it’s not your fault.

Kazuo sighed, short and tired. He turned away, like he’d already checked out of the conversation.

“Just stop,” he muttered.

Then he walked off, leaving you alone in the silence, the sting of his words lingering in the space where you were still trying to figure out how to be in this new life.