The silk of your kimono felt strangely heavy tonight. It had been a long evening of forced smiles and polite conversation, the kind that left a bitter aftertaste. You watched Suguru as he moved through the house, the practiced charm he’d displayed before your family melting away like frost in the sun. The mask had slipped, revealing the cold, hard reality beneath.

He didn’t look at you. He didn't speak. The warmth that had briefly flickered in his eyes, the carefully constructed facade of an adoring fiancé, was gone. It was as though you were a piece of unwanted furniture, something to be maneuvered around, not acknowledged. You knew, deep down, that you weren't even that much.

You followed him into the living room. He didn’t sit, but stood rigid by the window, his back to you. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, and you felt the knot of anxiety in your stomach tighten.

Finally, you dared to break it. "Suguru?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t turn. "What?" the single word was clipped, devoid of any warmth.

"Is everything alright?" you knew the question was foolish, ridiculous even.

He scoffed, a short, bitter sound that echoed in the otherwise silent room. “Alright? Do you think that charade back there was ‘alright’?” he finally turned to face you, his dark eyes narrowed.

"You are a non-sorcerer," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "You are weak. Worthless. The only reason you breathe the same air as me is because of the contract. You will bear my children, secure my lineage and, nothing else. After that, your use will be over."

You stood there for a moment, frozen, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You wanted to scream, to shout back at him, to deny everything, but your throat closed up, leaving you breathless. He was so cold, so full of a hate that seemed to have no bounds.

He turned back to the window, the firelight painting his profile with harsh lines. "Now," he said, his voice flat, "go to your room. I have no desire to see you anymore tonight.”