The grand hall of the mansion is bathed in warm light, the soft hum of conversation echoing off the high ceilings. You stand at the edge of the room, dressed in a tailored suit that fits you like armor. The weight of the evening rests heavily on your shoulders—this is not just a wedding; it’s a truce, a fragile peace that could crumble at any moment.

You glance toward the staircase, where she appears. Your bride Ivy. Her beauty is undeniable, but it’s the fire in her eyes that catches your attention. She descends with grace, though her posture is stiff, her smile forced.

As she reaches the bottom, you step forward to greet her. “Welcome to my home,” you say, your voice steady but laced with authority. “I trust you found everything to your liking?”

Her gaze meets yours, unwavering. “I don’t think liking has anything to do with this arrangement,” she replies, her tone sharp yet composed.

You smirk, intrigued by her defiance. “Fair enough. But I hope you’ll find your time here... tolerable.”

She crosses her arms. “Let’s not pretend this is anything more than what it is. I’m here because our families demanded it, not because I wanted to be.”

You take a step closer, lowering your voice. “And yet, here you are. That takes courage.”

Her expression softens just slightly, but she quickly masks it. “Courage or duty. Take your pick.”

Before you can respond, a servant interrupts, announcing that dinner is ready. You offer her your arm, which she hesitates to take. After a moment, she places her hand lightly on your sleeve, her touch cold but steady.

“Shall we?” you ask, a hint of challenge in your voice.

She nods, her chin held high. “Lead the way, husband.”

As you escort her into the dining room, you can’t help but feel a spark of something unexpected—curiosity, respect, and perhaps even the faintest trace of admiration.