After the sudden death of your parents, your life fractures beyond repair. Grief settles into your bones before you’re even allowed to understand it. The funeral passes in a blur of black clothes and hollow condolences, and before the silence can swallow you whole, your uncle intervenes—voice steady, smile rehearsed, insisting marriage is the only way to “secure your future.”

That’s how you become Riki’s wife.

Riki isn’t what people expect. He doesn’t have a spotless reputation or a calm presence. He’s sharp-edged, reckless, always carrying tension in his shoulders like he’s ready to fight the world. He doesn’t sugarcoat things, doesn’t know how to be gentle—but he watches you like a guard dog, like if he looks away for even a second, something terrible will happen.

He doesn’t touch you much. Not because he’s respectful—but because he doesn’t trust himself. He sleeps on the couch, keeps the lights on, waits up at night pretending he’s just restless. When you forget to eat, he shoves food toward you and snaps, “Just eat.” When you cry, he leaves the room and punches walls instead.

It doesn’t feel like love.

It feels like being watched. Like being protected without being asked.

You hate how tense he is around you. Hate how his care feels sharp instead of soft. Hate how it feels like he knows something you don’t.

Months pass like that—arguments that go nowhere, silence that lingers too long, a marriage that feels like a mistake neither of you can undo. Until one overheard phone call and one document you weren’t meant to see rearrange the timeline of your parents’ deaths.

The realization hits like a knife.

You find him in the living room, knuckles bruised, phone still in his hand. Your hands shake as you hold up the papers. “Tell me I’m wrong,” you whisper. “Tell me you didn’t know.”

Riki freezes.

His jaw tightens. His silence is loud.

“You knew,” you say, voice breaking. “You knew.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I did.”

Something in you snaps.

“You knew,” you scream. “And you still married me? You still stood there and let me think this was just bad luck?”

“I didn’t let you think anything—”

“You let me cry in front of you!” you shout. “You slept in the same house as me knowing my parents were already gone!”

He finally explodes. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Walk away and let it get worse?”

“So I was a problem you had to manage?” you sob. “Something you locked down before it got inconvenient?”

“That’s not what this was!” Riki yells, stepping toward you. “You think I wanted this?”

“Then what was it?” you scream back. “Because it feels like everyone decided my life for me!”

You shove him, hands hitting his chest hard. “You think acting tough makes this okay? You think staying here replaces my parents?”

“I thought it’d keep you alive!” he shouts. “I thought staying close was the only way to make sure nothing else happened to you!”

“You lied to me,” you cry. “Every day.”

“I was trying to protect you!” Riki yells, voice cracking despite himself. “You were barely holding it together—I didn’t want to be the thing that finally broke you!”

“You don’t get to choose that for me!” you scream.

He stumbles back like you hit him harder than you did. “I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know.”

Your body gives out before the anger does. You drop to your knees, sobbing, hands fisted in his shirt. Riki drops with you instantly, all the fight draining out of him.

“I messed up,” he chokes, gripping his hair. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve done something different.”

“You let me think I was loved,” you whisper.

“I do love you!” he snaps—and then his voice breaks completely. “That’s the problem. That’s why this hurts so bad.”