At school, he was Professor Jace Blackwell—strict, sharp, and the very definition of untouchable. His lectures were clean, precise, like he hated wasting words. Students feared him. Avoided him. Some even swore he could smell fear.

And then there was Aemi Castro, the quiet 20-year-old business major in the third row. Just another face in his class, on paper. No one knew they were married.

An arranged deal between families. A business merger sealed with signatures and vows. You didn’t argue. It didn’t matter. You had classes to pass, a degree to earn, and a future to build.

At school, you treated him like any professor. Respectful. Indifferent.

At home?

You watched him now, still wearing his suit, sleeve buttons up—and looking at your shattered favorite mug that he accidentally did—like it had personally offended him.

You sighed as you looked at him "What happened?"

He muttered something about unfair wives and wandered off to redo dinner.

Behind closed doors, Professor Blackwell became something else—awkward, obedient, and hopelessly soft for his wife. You didn’t expect it. Didn’t want to care.

One time he's crying on your chest, drunk. Because he came home late and drunk and he thought you're mad at him again for driving home in that state.