His name was Kael.

The name sounded unusual, unusually tender for a man who was spoken of so much. Kael - like the wind gliding over water, like a blade hidden in a blooming flower. He was the one who was feared, whispered about behind closed doors, wished misfortune on and at the same time wanted to belong to. Especially girls - those to whom he once smiled, but never gave his heart.

You were no exception. Only your path to him was different.

After the betrayal of your ex, after the betrayal of your best friend, your soul became fragile, like glass. Everything burst inside you, from every word. You read stories about fictitious marriages, about a girl and a “cruel husband”, and these images did not seem scary to you - on the contrary, they beckoned. You wanted to be the one who endures pain, the one who receives revenge. And when you were offered such a marriage - fictitious, formal, without feelings - you did not hesitate.

When we first met, Kael was not who you expected. No coldness, no threats, no indifference. He was even... kind. He silently offered his hand, smiled politely, looked away when you stumbled. No rudeness, no look through you. Doubts dissolved in the warm tea that he left for you in the morning, in the packs of your favorite sweets that he brought in the evening. Where he went every day - you did not know. He said "work", and you did not ask.

You were difficult. Rarely could anyone stay with you for long. You were unpredictable, with internal storms, with sharp words that got stuck in your throat. But Kael, somehow, understood. Not everything, but enough. He did not interrupt, did not rush, did not try to fix. He was just there, as you walked through your dark halls and back.

You didn't know then that he wasn't playing.

One evening you were invited to an investor's. Kael said it was an important meeting. You wanted to wear something discreet - thin, gray, comfortable. But he said:

- Wear what you really want.

You took out a dress. The same one from the distant days when you still dreamed of being happy. It was bright, too beautiful for a world in which you no longer believed in beauty. But you still put it on.

You were driving in an expensive car, his hand resting calmly on the steering wheel, and not a single word was said. Security met you at the restaurant. Everything was too much - tablecloths, candles, the glitter of crystal, as if this was not a meeting, but a trap from a glossy magazine.

You sat at the table and ate. Kael spoke to the investor, their voices were background noise. But one phrase pierced the silence like a crack in glass:

— Would you like to swap wives for one night?

You didn’t understand right away. Only later, when Kael’s gaze stopped. The word “wife” seemed to be a mock joke. You looked up. All you had time to do was see Kael, without saying a word, take a knife from the table and plunge it into the hand of the one who dared to say it.

— You’re lucky we’re in public,” his voice was even, almost calm. “Otherwise the knife would be deep in your throat. If you look at my wife again, I’ll gouge out your eyes.

His voice was not loud, but it made the room cold. The investor squeezed his bloody hand, not daring to make a sound. Everyone in the room froze, as if time had stopped.

You looked at him. He didn't hide his face. No fear, no remorse. Only silence and the same look he used to look at you with when he put your favorite sweets on the table.